


Detroit Become Cyberpunk: The Edge of Insane

by tristinai



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Background Simarkus, Blood and Violence, Case Fic, Convin, Human!Connor, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Manipulation, Masturbation, Mentions of Prostitution, Police corruption, Slow Burn, Torture, Unresolved Sexual Tension, background TiNorth, cyberpunk 2077 au, fixer!North, genderfluid!Simon, mentions of organ and implant harvesting, netrunner!Tina, no main game spoilers for Cyberpunk 2077, reluctant allies to lovers, solo!Gavin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:40:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29683404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai/pseuds/tristinai
Summary: Gavin Reed, better known as the merc ‘G’, has made a name for himself in Night City. Whether it’s sticking it to hot-shot corpos or taking out a prick trying to short any of Night City’s most influential gangers, he’s the guy for the job. Gavin’s only got two rules: never sleep with a client and never accept any gigs from badges.That all changes when the NCPD’s golden boy, Detective Connor Deckert, comes to Gavin with an enticing proposition.
Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed
Comments: 18
Kudos: 29





	1. Gonna Break Rules

**Author's Note:**

> After years of telling myself I'd write a Convin fic, here it is! I spent a lot of December and January playing Cyberpunk 2077 and became inspired to write a fic set in Night City. Many of the locations in the game will appear in this fic, along with two minor NPCs, but there will be **no spoilers** for Cyberpunk 2077's main storyline. For the most part, this fic is DBH characters reimagined in Night City. 
> 
> Please read all the tags before continuing. Tags will be updated with each chapter. A special thanks to [Sky_Willows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skye_Willows) for beta-reading. Check out her fics if you get the chance :)
> 
> If you need to brush up on some Cyberpunk terminology, or if you come across any words you don't know, I recommend checking out [this page](https://cyberpunk.fandom.com/wiki/Glossary_of_Common_Cyberpunk_Terms).
> 
> Happy reading!

The neon glow of the club’s lights bathes the dance floor in hues of blue and green, bodies swaying to the beat of some shitty EDM Gavin remembers being hot back in the 50s. Leave it to North to hire some asshole DJ playing all the fucking classics no one wants to hear. Doesn’t matter. The gonks on the dance floor are so high on synth, they don’t give a shit what crap the DJ plays.

With a bored frown, Gavin pours himself another shot of whiskey, looking for something to entertain him since the music’s not doing it. His eyes land on an attractive brunette swiveling his hips at the edge of the dance floor. A quick scan with Gavin’s kiroshi mod—some new cyberware his ripper installed with access to the police database—and the man’s info appears in Gavin’s HUD. Daisuke Tanaka, age 31, two B&Es and a DUI. Fucking child’s play, compared to the shit most of Afterlife’s patrons get up to.

Still...the prick’s got an ass Gavin could bounce an ennie off of. 

Gavin downs the whiskey, watching with increased interest as the man continues to dance. It’s been days since Gavin’s had his dick sucked and with any luck, he’ll have pretty boy’s lips wrapped around it before the night’s over. 

Leaning back in his booth, Gavin taps his fingers along to the next track, something he recognizes from his youth. Maybe he should invite the guy over, find out what stims he likes, see if he’s down to fuck after a few—

“Excuse me, are you G? The solo?”

Gavin turns his head sharply, brows already furrowed as he glares at the asshole who interrupted his people watching. Standing by the end of the booth, a man wearing a graffiti cap pulled low and his face half hidden by a neon mask attempts to push by the bodyguard. But it’s like trying to crash through a brick wall and the guard, Liu, is not having it.

“VIP only,” Liu shouts over the music, shoving the man back.

“I need to speak with him,” the man argues. He attempts to peek around Liu, trying to make eye contact with Gavin. Liu’s a pretty scary looking guy, heavily muscled and with a sharp pair of mantis blades hidden in his forearms. Anyone with decent optics would immediately pick it up on their scanner and think twice about fucking with the guy. But whoever this prick is, he must be desperate enough to risk pissing the guard off, shouting back, “I need his help with a job!”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Gavin scans the masked stranger. 

Conrad Chase, 28. No known offenses.

The fuck’s someone this vanilla doing in North’s club?

He can’t explain why but something about the info doesn’t sit right with Gavin. Everyone in Night City is guilty of _something_. Everyone who isn’t is already dead.

“I hear you’re good at finding people!” Conrad says as Liu begins to drag him away. 

Bemused, Gavin waves Conrad over. “Let ‘im by, Liu. I wanna hear what he has to say.”

Liu releases him, put off but not about to argue with Gavin. They’re in a fixer’s bar and the last position any of the staff want to find themselves in is standing between North and the eddies she pockets anytime a merc takes a gig in her establishment.

Conrad squeezes by the bodyguard, looking even more out of place as he sits at the edge of the booth. Gavin tries to get a good look at him but it’s impossible with that mask and hat blocking Conrad’s face. It sets off all the warning bells in Gavin’s head. He doesn’t like that he can’t see the guy’s face and he’s getting the impression ‘Conrad’ wants it that way.

“Is there some place we can talk that’s more...private?” Conrad asks.

A smirk spreads across Gavin’s face. He sidles a bit closer, eyes Conrad up and down. It’s clear that Conrad’s becoming more uncomfortable and that only makes Gavin more amused. “...you saying this isn’t ‘private’ enough for you, babe?”

Conrad squirms, his dark gaze hardening beneath the cap. “I’m here to talk business, G.”

With a dramatic sigh, Gavin motions for Conrad to get up. “All work and no play...fine. Come with me.”

Sliding out of the booth, Gavin then leads Conrad towards the back rooms of Afterlife. Before he makes it past the bar, a woman with a long, red braid places a hand gently on his arm, stopping him. North glances between Conrad and Gavin and Gavin can practically see the Eurodollar signs in her glowing red eyes. 

“I see you’ve met Conrad,” she remarks, a small smirk on her lips. 

Figures that she was the one who sent him to Gavin’s booth. 

“Con here wants some ‘privacy’. Seems your digs ain’t cutting it,” Gavin says.

Conrad’s gaze is steely but Gavin can sense the guy’s nerves, his discomfort at being in a place like this. It must be a last resort for someone with his clean record. 

“By all means, don’t let me stop you.” She leans in close and whispers, “The usual split.”

Gavin smirks. “35/65, and I put a good word in for you with my choom. Ya know, that netrunner you were ogling the other night?”

Gavin knows Chen’s got it just as bad for North. Might as well turn that mutual interest into profit.

“...do that and I think I’ll be the one owing you, G.” North glances over his shoulder at Conrad, studying him. Though the smile she wears doesn’t leave her face, she gives Gavin a quiet warning. “Careful with this one.”

Seems Gavin isn’t the only one suspicious of their new client.

With Conrad following close behind, they disappear to the back of the club. The back rooms are where the club’s most famous solos—mercs who’ve carved a name for themselves in Night City—conduct business. On any given night, Gavin has people seek him out for the odd job, or North—the club’s owner and fixer—will offer him work from some of her high profile clients. He’d hoped for a night off but, fuck, it’s Night City. Is there really such a thing?

“In here.”

Dropping into the booth in his private room, Gavin eyes Conrad expectantly. The other man, however, makes no attempt to sit down.

“I’d much rather stand.”

“Suit yourself.”

Pouring himself a drink from the bottle on the table, Gavin eyes Conrad from his peripheral. He does another scan, unable to shake off that unsettling feeling. Within moments, his mod picks out what’s been eating him these last few minutes.

The sneaky fucker.

“...you gonna tell me who you really are or you gonna keep pretending you’re some asshole named Conrad Chase?” Gavin asks.

The man stiffens but his brown eyes narrow. Gavin can picture the glare he must be wearing beneath his mask. “...I never gave you my name.”

“No, you didn’t. And neither did that shitty mod you’re using to hide your ID,” Gavin says, his expression darkening. “Mask and hat off or you can go pay some other prick to find whoever the fuck you’re looking for.”

The other man hesitates. “...if I remove them, do you promise you’ll hear what I have to say?”

“You make it sound like you’re expecting me to turn down eddies,” Gavin answers. “You must not know me all that well, sweetheart.”

‘Conrad’ startles at the pet name. Gavin makes a mental note to dial it down a notch. No point in scaring the prick off with a bit of harmless flirting. 

“Sorry. I’ve...been hearing a lot of ‘no’s,” the man says. He looks Gavin dead in the eyes, what little face of his that’s exposed shrouded by the shadow cast by his hat. But his optics make his eyes glow honey in the dim light. “At least give me a chance.”

Gavin’s intrigued, more than he’ll dare admit. He gives a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “Sure.” 

After an uncomfortable pause, the man removes his hat, followed by his mask. The hat’s barely off his head before Gavin’s on his feet, gun out so fast, he’s half surprised he didn’t put three holes in the fucker out of pure instinct. He jabs the weapon beneath the detective’s chin, snarling in the would-be client’s pretty face. But in spite of the immediate danger to his life, the other man doesn’t even flinch. 

“How the _fuck_ did you find me?!” Gavin demands. “Better yet, why the fuck are you coming after me?! Whatever shit you think you’ve got on me—!”

“Lower your weapon, Reed,” Detective Connor Deckert interrupts, looking more irritated than intimidated, “before I decide I have enough cause to arrest you.”

Gavin curses under his breath but doesn’t holster his smart pistol. He does, however, remove it from Connor’s chin since his trigger finger is two seconds away from blowing out the asshole’s brains on principle alone. 

“Get out,” Gavin orders, waving towards the door with his gun. “I got nothing to say to a fucking _badge_!”

Just his luck that on his first night off in fucking _forever,_ Connor god damn Deckert, the NCPD’s poster child for a well to do cop who doesn’t know how to mind his own fucking business, would come seeking Gavin. Gavin would recognize that handsome face anywhere, saw it plastered all over Night City’s news stations after that giant bust Connor pulled off months before. The detective single-handedly toppled Zlatko’s implant business in the north side, going after the crime lord when every other cop in Night City was too chickenshit to even press charges against Zlatko’s low-level scavengers. A fucking criminal legend is now sitting in some max security prison and Northside’s become ground zero, with every hot-headed ganger trying to fill those big shoes Zlatko once wore. Not to mention the fractions and in-fighting with what remains of the Scavs’ leadership.

And the real shit on top of that pile of garbage festering in this dumpster heap of a city? When every gang had it out for Deckert, ready to handsomely pay off the first solo who could serve Connor’s head on a chrome platter, Elijah Kamski—the richest corpo prick on the planet and CEO of Cyberlife—put out a goddamn bounty on any gonk dumb enough to off Detective Goody Two Shoes. The price? A hundred times whatever bounty was on Connor’s head. 

Gavin’s got no clue how the hell Connor got Kamski in his pocket but the only reason Connor’s not two seconds from flatlining is because even Gavin’s not reckless enough to piss off Night City’s most power-hungry corpo.

“I see you don’t require an introduction,” Connor remarks.

Gavin sneers. “Seems not, Deckert. What was it NC News said about you? ‘Youngest cop in Night City to make detective.’ Who’s dick did you have to suck to pull that off?”

“Cute,” Connor retorts, dryly. “But you might be shocked to learn that some of us get by on _merit_.”

“Get out,” Gavin snaps, cocking his gun. 

“We both know you’re not going to pull that trigger, Reed,” Connor says, his gaze steely as he stares at the weapon Gavin’s holding.

“No, but I can damn well tell you to fuck off!” Gavin snaps. “I ain’t helping you; and any solo worth half their fucking salt will tell you to eat shit!”

It’ll be career suicide for him to help the one pig in this city every ganger wishes they could bury in that giant landfill in the Badlands. 

“You said you’d hear me out, Reed,” Connor says, taking a firm step towards Gavin. Though he seems slightly wary of the gun, his expression remains hard as he locks eyes with Gavin. “So, hear me out. You’re...perhaps the only one who can help me.”

Gavin’s ready to sneer every insult that’s on the tip of his tongue. It’s not like he actually said he’d listen to Connor’s proposal. But, he can’t help wonder why in the hell someone as by the book as Deckert would come to one of the shadiest fixers in the city looking for help.

“...just cuz I’m listening don’t mean I’m gonna say ‘yes’,” Gavin decides. “You got two minutes, Deckert.”

Gavin shoves his gun back in its holster and flops down into the booth. Connor decides he no longer wants to stand and settles at the edge, though Gavin instinctively shuffles to the opposite end, not even wanting to accidentally brush thighs with the prick. Fuck, just sitting near the badge makes Gavin want to scrub his skin clean of the pig’s filth. Gavin must be out of his fucking mind to even entertain this but, hey, maybe him and Chen can laugh about it over drinks later.

“A few days ago, a good friend of mine went missing,” Connor says. “Lieutenant Hank Anderson.”

“Why the fuck should I care ‘bout some goddamn pig?”

“Because I’m paying you to give a shit, or was that part not made clear?” Connor snaps.

Gavin makes a derisive sound, folding his arms over his chest. “Never said I’d take the job.”

“But you said you’d listen and I haven’t made my offer yet.”

“Did I?” Gavin says, tapping his right temple. “Must be this new cyberdeck I installed ‘cuz I don’t remember saying that. Gonna need some eddies to get this shit fixed.”

Connor glares at him but, to Gavin’s shock, pulls out a small roll of eurodollars and chucks it at him. Gavin easily catches it. “Like I was saying: my friend went missing. He may have been kidnapped.”

“You tried looking in Morro Bay?” Gavin offers, pocketing the cash.

Connor gives him a dirty look. “I have reason to believe he’s still alive.”

“Hope springs eternal.”

“Let me rephrase that: I have _legitimate_ reason to believe he’s still alive.” Pulling a chip from his pocket, Connor places it on the table. “ _This_ was sent to me this morning.”

Gavin eyes the chip suspiciously. He’s seen enough of these to know what Connor’s handing him: a brain dance. A visual ‘memory’ that will allow them to see through the eyes of whoever sent this to Connor. Whatever’s on it, it’s enough that the detective’s now seeking the help of a mercenary.

“It’s a brain dance,” Connor explains, as Gavin picks it up to study it more closely. _No shit._ “I viewed it earlier at the precinct. It...shows Hank. Being tortured. I...couldn’t watch all of it.”

... _oh._

Gavin bites back the snide comment he had about pigs getting what’s coming to them. The badges in this city seem to hate the people they swore to ‘serve and protect’ almost as much as the crooks looking to swindle them. For every ‘decent’ cop, there’s at least ten others looking to abuse their power or take out the frustrations of the job on the next prick who looks at them wrong. But as much as he’d love to remind Connor of this, the devastated look Connor wears as the detective fails to hold back how disturbed he was by the brain dance makes Gavin decide to not be a dick. For once. 

Instead, he places the chip back down and asks, “There anything else you can tell me ‘bout this? Maybe something you heard by the fuckers who made it?”

Connor shakes off whatever images must be replaying in his brain. “I couldn’t see anyone else in the BD. But the person who—the one who was...whoever made it had only one demand: they promised to let Hank go if I publicly declare my resignation from the NCPD.”

Gavin’s gaze flicks back to the chip sitting on the table. He’s gotta hand it to whoever made it, it’s fucking ingenious, the Holy Grail Night City’s been waiting for: find Detective Brown Noser’s favorite choom, turn that asshole into a punching bag, and then make some chip out of it to mentally torment the detective until he resigns. With Deckert off the streets, it will be business as usual and no solo or gang will need to worry about the prick gunning for them if their case happens to fall upon his desk.

“You know,” Gavin starts, acting as if he’s got no skin in the game when the opposite is true, “you could save yourself a shit ton of eddies and—”

“I’m not resigning,” Connor interrupts him.

Well. So much for that.

“Your choom’s life really worth your one-man crusade to clean up this shit hole?”

“Some of us have _morals_ , Reed,” Connor retorts, his tone critical. “Not all of us will look the other way for the right price.”

“You say that like it’s a _bad_ thing.”

“I like being able to sleep at night.”

“So do I,” Gavin says, with a smirk. “On silk sheets, case you’re wondering. Ever fucked on those? Makes it easier to slide balls deep in—”

“Could you _not_ recount your night-time excursions when we _should_ be discussing the reason I’m here,” Connor cuts him off, the detective’s cheeks flaring scarlet. 

Christ, Gavin didn’t expect the asshole to have a stick this far up his ass. Hell, if Connor wasn’t such a fucking tool, maybe Gavin would be down for some of those ‘night-time excursions’ with him. Replace that ‘stick’ with his own, give him a pounding that would have Detective Hard Ass feeling it for days afterwards. The asshole’s pretty, no denying that, and Gavin’s always been a sucker for leggy brunettes, especially ones who can dish it as well as they can take it. Fuck, he can just picture how hot Connor must look when he’s on his knees, lips parted wide, ready to swallow a mouthful of—

“—will also look the other way should any case involving you comes across my desk.”

...huh?

Gavin forces his mind out of the gutter, drawing his eyes to Connor’s chest. He’s not at all ogling the way Connor’s fitted shirt hugs his slim torso. Or that sliver of collarbone peeking through the prick’s shirt. He also isn’t fantasizing about running his tongue along that line of pale flesh…

_Fuck’s sake, he’s a_ **_badge_ ** _,_ Gavin silently screams at his brain.

Shaking off his lewd thoughts, Gavin quickly puts two and two together from the fragments he’d tuned in for. When he realizes what Connor’s proposing, his smirk widens.

“Wait. You’re saying that Detective no-nonsense is gonna give me a ‘get out of jail’ free card if I find your missing choom?” Gavin asks.

Connor’s eyes narrow, his golden-brown irises glimmering dangerously in the dim light. Maybe it’s supposed to scare Gavin shitless: he’s sure Connor could put him away for life, if he manages to uncover even a fraction of the shit Gavin’s done for eddies. But if anything, knowing that Connor’s as full of his own power as any ganger with a gun is doing things to Gavin he’s not exactly proud of. Fuck what Aristotle said; hubris is sexy. 

“As I said,” Connor clarifies, irate, “I’ll pay you ten times what I already gave you once you’ve found Hank. Then, in the future, if for any reason your name comes up in any investigation I’m conducting, I’m...willing to not discount your complete innocence. I cannot say the same for my colleagues.”

“So, the Stiff’s gotta price tag,” Gavin says, with a toothy grin, “seems even the NCPD’s Golden Boy will look away for ‘the right price’.”

“I may have spoken too soon,” Connor says. His hard expression softens as he looks away, whispering, mostly to himself, “...but some people are worth it.”

An uncomfortable silence falls between them. In that time, Gavin makes the mistake of studying Connor’s features closely. The cyberware implants from Connor’s optics have left a single line on either side of his face, one that curves beneath his eyes and disappears into his hairline. Otherwise, his pale skin is smooth, with freckles and beauty marks that dot his face in a random pattern. Gavin’s spent enough time sneering at Connor’s face whenever it comes up in the news, yet this may be the first time he’s actually really looked at it.

When Connor turns back to him, his expression somber, Gavin suddenly feels guilty for being such an asshole earlier.

“You will help me, right?” Connor asks, quietly.

_Fuck no!_ Gavin’s brain screams at him.

He’s fucking _ruined_ if he says yes and any fixer in the city gets wind of this. Fuck, if North finds out _this_ is who he’s making back-room deals with in _her club_ , Gavin’s career as a solo is as good as over.

“Sure,” Gavin says, with a nonchalant shrug. “Never could say ‘no’ to some eddies.”

_fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!!!!!!_

Connor smiles. Something flutters in Gavin’s chest.

Fucking Christ, he really is _fucked._

“Thank you,” Connor says, looking relieved. 

So this is what career suicide looks like: six feet tall and with a face so pretty it makes Gavin question why he’s been wasting his time with dolls and joytoys when he should’ve been staking out the fresh meat coming out of the NCPD. Fuck, if he had a little less shame, he’d buying the asshole drinks and finding out if Connor whimpers or shouts when he’s blowing his load. 

Once more forcing his brain to remain on task, Gavin reminds himself he’s not getting any dick out of this. It’s only a job and he’s always kept two rules: don’t fuck the clients and most of all, never work with badges. Fuck, he really has lost his mind.

Gavin coughs uncomfortably. “So, uh, this choom of yours...when did the prick go missing?”

“Two nights ago,.” Connor pauses, seeming to contemplate something, before he adds, hesitantly. “He...had been drinking that night. He was my old partner, from the 99, before I was transferred to the 78th precinct. He called me from a bar, asking if I wanted to catch up.”

“And let me guess? You were too fucking busy ruining some asshole’s life to have a few drinks?”

“ _I’ve_ been working on a double homicide case,” Connor says, more than a little offended, “I haven’t had time to socialize.”

“Now this shit’s come back to bite you in the ass,” Gavin says. “You play boy scout one night and some assholes—my bet’s on a gang your choom fucked over—abduct him and now you gotta put your case on hold to rescue the prick. See? This is what happens when you take your job _too_ seriously.”

“I’m paying you to help me _find_ him, _not_ to give me life advice,” Connor tells him acerbically. “Given the multitude of charges and suspected ‘missing persons’ cases tied to your ‘business’, I think I’d be better off taking life advice from an automated taxi.”

Ouch.

“Yeah, well, you came to _me_ and if you’re gonna keep giving me that ‘my shit smells better than yours’ attitude, I’ll take my services elsewhere,” Gavin snaps.

Connor sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Though the glare doesn’t leave his face, Gavin can see the asshole’s trying to be diplomatic. “I’m sorry. I’m just...I’m out of options. I’m afraid that if I don’t—that if we can’t find him…”

His voice trails off, a forlorn look etching into stress lines that appear. Fuck, the guy really sells the ‘kicked puppy’ look better than Gavin ever could. And Gavin, dumb ass that he is, _actually_ is starting to feel bad for being such a prick.

Eyeing the chip on the table, Gavin rubs at the stubble on his chin. All this arguing’s getting them nowhere.

“Get your mask ‘n shit back on. Don’t need to be drawing any attention when we leave this place.”

“Where are we going?” Connor asks, doing as Gavin says.

Gavin takes the chip off the table. “Gonna go see someone who can help us with whatever’s on this. Come on.”

With his drink unfinished, Gavin leads Connor out of the club. The whole time, he can’t help but wonder what the fuck he’s gotten himself into.

* * *

Tucked away in the middle of Watson is Lizzie’s Bar, home to the Mox, the only all-woman gang in the city. With it’s blue and pink neon signs, the old dive’s established itself as a haven for sex workers, a place where anyone in the trade can safely barter their ‘services’, so long as they tip out the bar. And hey, Gavin’s been known to indulge when the right man catches his eye. But even if he’s got an itch he’d loved scratched, getting his dick wet is, unfortunately, the last thing on the menu tonight.

“...a strip club?” Connor asks, eyeing the place skeptically.

“And the hottest brain dance bar in the city,” Gavin says, giving Connor a lopsided grin. “Trust me on this.”

Connor looks unimpressed. Or, at least Gavin _thinks_ he does. Hard to say with the prick’s hat pulled so low.

“Just remember,” Gavin whispers, keeping his voice low as the two approach the bouncer, “shut the fuck up ‘n let me do the talking. They figure out you’re a badge, Traci’ll kick my ass and there’s no way Chen will help us.”

“...you couldn’t seek help from someone who _isn’t_ associated with a gang?!” Connor hisses.

“Stop thinking like a goddamn badge,” Gavin whispers back.

“Gavin, wait—”

“Hey, Traci!” Gavin calls, waving at the bouncer. He can practically feel Connor glaring into his back and it makes his grin widen. “It’s been a while!”

Traci rolls her eyes at him, though Gavin catches the hint of a smirk on her lips. With her blue hair styled in a faux hawk and the silver plate on her neck gleaming in the neon-lighting, she sells that _Full Metal Bitch_ attitude that’s become second nature to her in all the time Gavin’s known her. Armed with a spiked bat and knives hidden in her thigh-high boots, she’s ready to cut anyone who looks at her funny and Gavin can’t say he envies anyone who’s made it on her bad side. He’s seen her knock seven-foot tall chromers flat on their faces for harassing one of the workers and God help any asshole who calls her ‘sweetheart’. Fuckers are lucky if all they end up as is shark chum in the bay.

“The fuck you doing here, Reed?” Traci sasses him. “Thought Chen told you to stop bugging her at work.”

“I’m here on business,” Gavin says, waving the chip in front of her. “You wouldn’t turn away a paying customer, would ya?”

“...you mean you’ll be paying this time or are you going to pull the ‘friend’ card again?” Traci asks, cocking one of her pierced brows. The studs glow as they catch the sign’s light. It makes Gavin briefly consider replacing his own spiked eyebrow rings with neon ones. “You seem to _always_ bank on favors your choom ‘owes’ you.”

“What can I say? Chen and I, we go way back.”

Gavin gives her a smarmy grin and, as always, Traci’s hard attitude cracks and she shoves him playfully towards the door. “Your girl’s downstairs. This one with you?”

Her cat-like eyes turn to Connor and Gavin can tell she’s scanning him. But unlike the implants Gavin invested good eddies in, Traci’s don’t register anything strange about the mod Connor’s using.

“Yeah, he’s with me,” Gavin smirks, throwing an arm around Connor and pulling him close. He winks at Traci. “Figure after we see Chen, we could get some use outta your rooms, if you know what I mean.”

He feels Connor tense at his side and Connor snaps, “We most certainly will not be using—”

“Stop worrying, babe,” Gavin assures him, flirtatiously, “Already told ya: these ones are soundproof, so no one’s gonna say nothing ‘bout how noisy you get. Ain’t that right, Trace?”

“He’s right; your privacy is our guarantee.”

Traci laughs and waves them off. Pulling Connor along with him, Gavin enters the bar and as soon as there are no eyes on them, Connor pushes Gavin away from him. Gavin doesn’t need to see the detective’s face to know Connor must be blushing.

“Did you really need to act like that?” Connor hisses, angrily.

“Gotta reputation,” Gavin responds, but the shit-eating grin doesn’t leave his face. Fuck, is it fun messing with him. “Always work alone. The only reason I’d bring anyone here is if I’m sticking my dick in ‘em and Traci knows that.”

“Great. So this...Chen? Is she also going to assume we’ve been ‘intimate’?”

Connor says the word with obvious disgust and Gavin forces back a frown as he waves at one of the girls he knows. “Yep. So long as you stick to the goddamn plan. And fuck, try not to sound so fucking miserable: most assholes love it when I jack into them.”

“I’d rather not think about the ‘assholes’ you’ve jacked into,” Connor mutters.

Fucking slut-shaming prick.

Weaving their way through the bar, Gavin leads Connor to the back rooms, only stopping a few times to greet some of the Moxes. There’s a steady crowd but given it’s a Tuesday, it’s a lot quieter than it is from Friday to the early hours of Monday, where the party barely seems to stop. Some of Gavin’s best nights have been spent here and he makes a note to come back when he’s not being dragged into a job where one misstep will ruin him.

“Chen’ll be back here,” Gavin says, tugging Connor into a dimly lit hallway. He lets him go almost immediately, not wanting to get another earful from Detective Killjoy. “Maybe try pulling that stick outta your ass for more than two seconds. And play up how fucking into me you are or she won’t buy that bullshit ‘bout you being my latest Joytoy.”

“Joytoy?”

Connor gives him a withering look.

“...like I said: I gotta _reputation_ ,” Gavin shrugs. “Just cuz I’m paying for it don’t mean it’s any less good.”

“Do I _look_ like a Joytoy?”

Gavin pivots, which nearly causes Connor to collide into him. He gives Connor an appreciative once over, allowing his gaze to linger long enough to make the detective squirm. “You look like a fucking screamer, babe. Bet you get real loud when you’re getting preem dick.”

Gavin chuckles loudly, earning a shoulder check from Connor as Connor ducks his head and pushes past the merc. He was right: fucking with Connor is making this shitty job worth it.

“I’m not that noisy…” Connor mumbles.

“I wouldn’t know,” Gavin retorts, “...yet.”

“And you never will!” Connor snaps at him.

“...hey, chill. I’m just fucking with you,” Gavin says, with a shake of his head. He also can’t help feeling a little offended at how quickly Connor shuts down the possibility of some no-strings attached fun. Not that Gavin would fuck a badge. Even he has standards. “Fucking Christ, you need to learn to let shit go.”

“...can we get this over with?”

Muttering another expletive under his breath, Gavin stops in front of a door. He’s about to warn Connor what they’re about to walk into when he catches Connor staring into one of the small, private rooms lining the hallway. Each room is separated from the hallway with a wall of glass so other customers—particularly the voyeurs—can watch as the dancers give customers some premium lap action. Connor’s eyes are glued to the stripper occupying the room closest to them, feet planted firmly into the floor and his body turned in the direction he’s staring. Seems the asshole’s forgotten _why_ they’re here. Even with Connor’s face hidden, Gavin can tell all of the cop’s attention is on the male stripper as the stripper grinds on his customer’s lap.

A grin spreads on the merc’s face: Gavin _knew_ this badge was thirsting for dick.

“...you know, we can swing by here AFTER we see Chen, if you want some one-on-one play time with Brick,” Gavin says.

Connor looks away sharply, ducking his head. His tone cool as he responds, frostily, “What makes you think I’d _want_ that?”

“I’m not judging you,” Gavin says, though his shit-eating grin widens. Brick’s built like a tank, and with his chiseled jaw and charming smirk, it’s no surprise that Gavin’s paid for some of his ‘services’ before, even if he doesn’t usually go for the buff ones. “Drop a few extra eddies and Brick’ll give you a good pounding in one of the rooms upstairs.”

“We’re here for a _job_ , Gavin,” Connor retorts, pushing Gavin aside and jabbing the panel on the wall. “Don’t make me regret—”

He yelps in surprise, crashing into the open doorway as half a dozen sets of eyes turn towards him and Gavin. A woman shrieks, another shouts at them to get back to the club, and yet another rolls her eyes and says, loudly, “Relax, it’s not some perv—it’s just Gav.”

“He _is_ a perv, V,” Roxanne says, leaning back against the counter and smirking, “if Dru’s stories are true.”

Vicki punches her lightly in the shoulder with her cybernetic hand, keeping her back to Gavin and Connor as she fixes her makeup in the mirror. All the strippers in the change room are topless, with the exception of Sakura, who ignores them and sorts through her costumes with one of the male dancers, Tex. Connor, meanwhile, babbles a nonsensical string of something that Gavin’s betting is supposed to be an apology. Fucking boy scout.

“Your choom okay?”

Gavin grabs Connor and drags him to the opposite end of the room. “Don’t mind him; first time here. Gonna show him a good time later.”

“Go easy on ‘im, G,” Tex says, with a knowing smirk. “Try not to break this one, too.”

“Bite me, Tex.”

“From what I remember, you enjoy that,” Tex retorts.

The laughter dies away as the door slides shut behind them. Connor all but shoves Gavin off of him and Gavin catches the railing before he goes flying down the stairs. “What the fuck, Con!?”

“You could have warned me about that!” Connor snaps at him. 

Sure, Gavin _could_ have done that. But it wouldn’t have been as funny.

“Relax. Ain’t you ever seen tits before?”

Gavin trudges down the stairs, taking them two steps at a time. He hears Connor follow after him but from the detective’s heavier footfalls, he can tell Connor’ still pissed off.

“That’s _not_ the issue here,” Connor hisses. “You said we were going to see your friend—”

“—and she’s down here!” Gavin insists. “You really think the Mox has their best netrunner working from one of the jizz-stained couches upstairs?”

Connor makes an annoyed sound and thankfully shuts up. 

Gavin’s getting the feeling he’s not the only one regretting this temporary partnership.

Pushing through a set of double-doors, Gavin feels some of the tension leave him as they enter into a large, familiar room. It’s not much to look at, with a few reclining chairs one would find at any ripperdoc’s shop and all sorts of electrical equipment strewn around the room but Gavin’s spent enough time here that it feels like a second home. In fact, he’s hidden out here a few times after a job gone wrong, when he needed to lay low until shit blew over. Chen’s always had his back and the Moxes tolerate him, which is _enough_ since they rarely trust anyone who isn’t under their protection or part of the gang. 

In the corner closest to the door, a woman types away at a keyboard, her left profile towards Gavin and Connor. From what Gavin can tell, she’s editing a brain dance vid.

“Hey, Chen. Long time, no see.”

Tina swivels in her chair, the bright blue tips of her dark hair brushing over her eyes. The left side of her head is shaved and Gavin can see Tina’s new ink, the Mox gang symbol, a pink doll-like skull, tattooed into her olive skin. Across her neck is the word _MOX_ in black ink, peeking above her studded choker. If she keeps going, she’ll soon have more tattoos than Gavin. 

“You saw me last week, Gav,” Tina responds. “Don’t tell me you miss me already.”

“I always fucking miss you,” Gavin says, leaning against the console. “Barely see you now that you’re with the Mox. You trying to replace me, Chen?”

“I’d trade your cranky ass in any day for preem pussy,” Tina retorts, smirking, “maybe even for shitty SCSM coffee. The Mox has _both._ ”

“You’re fucking savage, Chen.” Gavin clutches at his chest, feigning offense. In truth, he couldn’t be happier for her: Tina’s better off here than working out of that dingy basement she was in before joining the Mox. He glances over her shoulder. “Whatcha working on?”

“Some snuff vid for a customer,” she shrugs. She brings up the audio functions of it and Gavin has no clue what she’s doing but she seems to be altering it. “Wants me to increase the audio stimuli when this guy gets ganked. Can you believe the shit I’m asked to do?”

“Customer’s always right. Isn’t that how this shit works?”

“Well, this customer’s fucked,” Tina mutters, taking a moment to play with the ball on her lip ring. “But he’s paying so who am I to judge?”

She swivels around again and glances at Connor, who has yet to move away from the door. “Who’s the choom?”

“Someone who’s about to walk out on the worst date he’s ever been on,” Connor answers, acidly. He crosses his arms over his chest and though Gavin can’t see it, he’s betting Connor’s glaring at him. He’s become familiar enough with it in the short time they’ve known each other. 

At least he’s selling his contempt for Gavin. That can’t all be for show.

“Already told ya, babe: this shit’ll only take a sec,” Gavin argues, showing Tina his chip. “Need to borrow one of your chairs.”

Tina’s gaze flits back to Connor, who tenses beneath her scrutiny. Tina may be tiny, at only 5’3’, but piss her off and she’ll fry your implants and have you flatlining before your system knows it’s been overloaded. She’s one of the few netrunners Gavin knows who can hack a person’s implants with a mere scan. Some top of the line shit she had installed that she crafted herself. Girl’s got talent. “You know I’m never one to turn down a favor for a choom. But you also know I don’t like being lied to, Gav.”

“Chen—”

“Who are you?” Tina demands, her voice cool but her tone letting both of them know she’s not about to put up with any bullshit. There’s a reason the Mox welcomed her with open arms. “Cuz you sure as hell are not Conrad Chase.”

Shit.

Is Gavin even surprised Tina’s hardware would pick up a crappy mod?

“Chen, before you freak out—”

“Shitty mods like that are used by badges undercover,” Tina cuts Gavin off. She directs her glare at Gavin. “Don’t tell me you brought a fucking badge in here, Gav. Do you know what Kara will do to me if she finds out?!”

“Chen—”

“I insisted on coming here, Miss Chen,” Connor says. His tone remains even, despite the murderous look he’s receiving. Gavin’s gotta hand it to him: the stiff’s got balls. “I blackmailed Gavin into helping me by promising him I’d drop a case I’ve been building against him: he helps me find a friend whose been kidnapped and I’ll see to it that he isn’t charged with a double-homicide.”

_That case the prick mentioned earlier,_ Gavin realizes, angrily. _That fucking two-faced piece of—_

Tina’s glare goes from murderous to downright psychopathic, like she wants nothing more than to dice Connor up and feed him to her pet ocelot. Hell, Gavin thinks Fangs will only be too happy to turn Connor into a chew toy. It’s a step up from the live rats Chen sometimes feeds him. “This true, Gav?”

“Prick may have left out _some_ of the details,” Gavin answers, frostily. Fuck, does he wish he could knock the asshole’s perfect teeth out. “But, yeah. What he said.”

Him and Connor are gonna have a real nice ‘talk’ after this.

Exhaling in frustration, Connor removes his mask.

Tina’s reaction is no less than what Gavin expected.

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?! Gav—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” Gavin says, trying to placate her. He’s as pissed off about all this as she is. “But, hey, you gotta admit I must be getting pretty famous if the NCPD is sending their top dog after me—”

“This is not a good time to be joking about this,” Tina says, angrily. She hits the panel beside the door, locking it. “If Kara finds out—”

“She won’t,” Gavin promises. “Give us a few minutes to analyze the brain dance and we’ll be gone before she knows we were here.”

“The shit I do for you,” Tina mumbles under her breath. She indicates to the chair closest to her. “Strap in. And before you start bitching, _I’m_ tuning into this. I wanna know what the hell you’re making me an accessory to.”

She holds out her hand and Gavin drops the chip into it, deciding it’s better than to argue. 

Connor, however, is already protesting. “This wasn’t part of the—”

“Relax, Deckert: we can trust Chen,” Gavin cuts him off. “You don’t really have a fucking choice, do you?”

Connor snaps his mouth shut but it’s clear he’s not happy about it.

Tina hands Gavin the brain dance headset. He takes it and then settles into the chair closest to her. Slipping on the brain dance wreath, he reclines back as comfortably as he can. A notification pops up in his HUD, asking for permission to connect. 

“You ready, G?”

Gavin grants Tina access. “Ready. Try not to fry my brains, Chen.”

“Never heard of that happening to anyone,” Tina remarks. Green lights pop on the wreath, glowing brighter before Gavin’s eyes as the connection strengthens. “Any second now…”

SMACK! 

Gavin jolts as ‘his’ fist connects with Hank’s jaw, a tingling sensation numbing his knuckles. He’s done this many times, beaten asshole badges to a bloody pulp, and nothing brings him the same kind of twisted pleasure as watching some cop bleed out before him. The wheeze of pain that the bound lieutenant gives makes something hot curl in ‘Gavin’s abdomen.

But, it’s not Gavin who feels any of this—even if Gavin’s got no love for the shitbags who work for the NCPD. The neural connection Gavin’s made to the braindance means what he is seeing and ‘feeling’ is everything that Hank’s kidnapper felt when this BD was recorded. From the dulled pain in his large knuckles, Gavin can tell that the kidnapper’s been at this for some time.

“Th-that all you got?” Hank pants.

Blood dribbles down Hank’s chin. There’s more dried and caked around his left ear. From the looks of it, the badge had an audio implant ripped out.

A sudden surge of anger erupts inside of Gavin and his hand grabs Hank’s greasy locks, yanking the lieutenant’s head back roughly. Hank grunts in pain but his glare remains in place as he stares down his attacker.

Gavin freezes the braindance.

“You getting any of this, Chen?”

He zooms in on a discarded take out container on the floor behind Hank, catching only the corner of it, before zooming back out to the beaten up badge. Seems someone got hungry while roughing up their captive.

“Caught it while you were decorating the badge’s face with bruises,” Tina says.

He hears her from where he knows she’s seated at her desk, even if he can’t see the room they’re currently in. Like always, it’s a little jarring to register audio stimuli while his visual cortex remains connected to the braindance. Hank is frozen in front of him, in the place where this memory was recorded, but Gavin’s aware he’s still in the basement of Lizzie’s bar with Tina and Connor. As odd as it feels, he’s done this enough times to shake off the strangeness of hearing Chen and being unable to see her while reliving someone else’s memory.

“That badge is my _friend_ ,” he hears Connor reprimand her.

“Yeah, and your choom’s not looking too hot.” As an after-thought, she adds, almost convincingly, “Sorry.”

“Think it says, ‘Kabayan Foods’,” Gavin says. The edge of the container peeks fuzzily into his vision. He rewinds the chip a few seconds but the way the attacker’s face is turned puts the container in and out of their field of vision. Gavin can’t get a good visual on it. “Shit. Will this asshole stop moving their fucking head for two seconds?”

“Trust me: it’s definitely Kabayan,” Tina confirms. “Ate there enough times to know what their takeout looks like. But you’re shit out of luck: they’ve got locations all over the city and deliver as far out as Charter Hill.”

“Who the fuck in Charter Hill gets cravings for this shit?”

“Hey, their meat skewers are fucking nova!”

“Bullshit! I’ve had better meat at—!”

“Could you two focus on the braindance!” Connor snaps over them. 

Gavin, not enjoying being bossed around by some badge, adds, rather pettily, “Thought you detectives are supposed to investigate shit like this. You really couldn’t sit through a few minutes of this? Coulda saved yourself some eddies.”

He plays the next ten seconds while Connor, speaking above the sound of the kidnapper threatening Hank, retorts, “Some of us would rather not watch the people we care about get bludgeoned half to death!”

“That’s just another sexy Friday night for some chooms,” Gavin drawls.

“I never asked for your kinks.”

“You fucking _wish_ you knew my fucking kinks, fucking square!”

“No kink-shaming in my den,” Tina cuts in. “And Gavin, stop being an asshole.”

“Why the fuck you taking his side?” Gavin grumbles. He pauses the chip, switching to the audio editor. He replays the last two seconds, focusing on a faint sound in the distance. “...you hearing that, Chen?”

He enhances the sound and plays it again.

“That whistle…” Tina says. “Waterfront?”

“It’s gotta be. Remember that dump I lived at in Heywood? Fucking couldn’t get away from every barge announcing its fucking arrival in the mornings.”

“...so, you’ve deduced that this is a waterfront warehouse in a district Kabayan delivers to,” Connor says, unimpressed. “That’s nearly _every_ warehouse in the city.”

“Fuck off, it’s more than you assholes came up with,” Gavin replies. “You really gonna come in here, to one of the best brain dance editors’ dens in the city, and shit over what we’ve found? Maybe show some goddamn patience.”

“I know the tech the NCPD has,” Tina adds. “It’s fucking ancient; I’m surprised you badges can even run any braindance chip made after 2070.”

“...I’m sorry.” Connor’s apology is genuine, his voice wavering. After a short pause, he admits, quietly, “I...can’t stop worrying about Hank. Please, continue.”

Gavin watches the next minute, as punch-after-punch is delivered to the lieutenant. When the attacker is finished, they grab Hank by the bloodied collar of his jacket and Gavin hears the squeak of the chair as it’s dragged a few inches forward. Though there are numerous bruises on the cop’s jaw, along with Hank’s busted nose and lip, it looks worse than it must feel. Gavin would know: he’s been paid enough times to rough up some creeper stalking one of the employees at Lizzie’s. The most effective way of getting the message across: always leave them in enough pain to know it can and _will_ get worse if they don’t fuck off. But also, make sure they’re in good enough shape to walk away. Dead bodies are a bitch to dispose of and crippling someone always runs the risk of them dying in the street. A message is only a message if the asshole’s alive to remember it. 

“You see this, Detective?” the attacker says in the brain dance. “Your choom here’s not looking so good. You want him back in one piece? You got ‘til Saturday to give us what we want.”

“Y-you assholes really think he’s gonna listen to you?” Anderson taunts, wheezing heavily. The speaker backhands him, his brass knuckles cutting the upper part of Anderson’s cheek. Anderson breathes hard and fights back a sound of pain. 

“Saturday,” the attacker repeats. “You give a nice big speech ‘bout how you’re leaving the NCPD or the next time you see him, your boy Anderson,” the speaker’s hand grips Anderson by the throat and even Gavin winces as he feels it tighten, squeezing the lieutenant’s windpipe, “will be in a body bag.”

The ganger releases Anderson, who pants and gasps for breath.

“Don’t do it, Con,” Anderson grunts, giving a weak cough and spitting up blood on his lips. “You tell these assholes where they can stick their—!”

Someone else comes up behind Hank and stabs him in the shoulder with a small pocket knife. They then twist the knife and Hank tries to swallow the cry ripping from his throat. The chip freezes with Hank mid-scream, ending the recording.

Fuck, no wonder Connor’s being an insufferable prick: sitting through his choom getting tortured couldn’t have been easy. Not that Gavin will admit that.

“Think I saw something else,” Gavin says and rewinds back 1.72 seconds, “...here.”

He can only see the gangster stabbing Anderson from the chest down, the woman wearing a bright red jacket with three quarter sleeves. Nothing about her outfit sticks out but Gavin catches fresh ink on the inside of her arm: a snake with its body wrapped around an animal skull, its head poking out of the skull’s left eye socket. 

...where the fuck has he seen that before?

“You recognize this?” Gavin asks, zooming in on the tattoo.

“If you’re thinking it’s a gang, none of the major players have tattoos like that,” Tina answers. “Maybe someone new to the scene?”

“Ask our friendly neighborhood badge; he’s the asshole who dethroned Zlatko,” Gavin says. “Now, every prick packing lead’s declaring themselves hot shit and trying to take Northside. Who knows? Probably some small fish passing themselves off as a shark. Fucking idiots.”

He disconnects from the brain dance weave, the scene before him filling with a bright flash. As colors dance behind his eyes, he slowly blinks them open and is met with Connor’s withering glare from the other side of the room. He’d ask what stick the cop’s got shoved up his ass this time but he doesn’t have to; the prick’s lips are moving and Gavin’s about to get an earful. Fucking great.

“I _had_ to put Zlatko away,” Connor seethes. “He _deserved_ it.”

Gavin removes the device and sets it on the stand near the chair. He knows it’s pointless arguing with Connor; nothing he says will change the gonk’s mind. However, he just can’t help himself. “You badges couldn’t leave shit alone; had to go disrupting the natural order of things. Fuck, and you wonder why everything’s gone to shit.”

“That natural order you are defending is the reason hundreds of innocent people in Night City have suffered,” Connor says, heatedly. “Zlatko spent decades abusing the law: everything from money-laundering to dealing and selling on the black markets, hacking and modifying patented militech...he abducted, dismembered, and illegally extracted implants from his victims!...and that’s not even getting into the number of hits he put on people who are still missing!”

Gavin waits for Connor to finish his rant, exchanging a knowing look with Tina. He has no love for Zlatko: his handful of dealings with the Scavenger were pure business, an exchange of eddies to make some other lawless prick who got on Zlatko’s bad side disappear. None of the contracts he had were for Joe Schmoe, running his little family shop as big corporations planted their vending machines all over the city and threatened to put him out of business. No, the pricks Gavin took out for Zlatko were of Zlatko’s ilk, with just as much blood on their hands.

...why the fuck would Connor give a shit what happens to some trigger-happy assholes?

“...you done there, Sparky?” Gavin asks, bored.

Connor glares at him. “…were you not listening to a word I said?”

“Selective hearing; tunes out bullshit.”

Connor sighs, pushing away from the wall. 

Point Gavin.

“Hey, Chen. Think you can send me a render of that tattoo?” 

Gavin approaches her desk, sitting on the edge of it.

Tina nods. “Already on it. You should be receiving it...now.”

Gavin’s phone buzzes. He takes it out and pulls up the image, showing it to Connor. “Should come in handy. We see anyone with this tattoo, there’s a good chance they’ll know where your boy is.”

“We should retrace Hank’s steps; perhaps someone who saw him that night might recognize this,” Connor says. “We should hurry.”

“Hold it,” Tina says. “Before you head out of here, there’s something I need to do first. Give me your mod.”

She holds out her hand to Connor.

Connor tenses. “Why would I do that?”

“If you’re going to be dragging my choom all across Night City to find your partner, I’d rather he doesn’t end up with a bullet in his skull because of your shitty hardware,” Tina tells him. 

Connor frowns. After a moment, he reluctantly removes the mod from its cerebral port and hands it to her. As Tina gets to work on it, Connor watches her like a hawk, almost as if he expects her to fuck with it. Gavin wouldn’t put it past her: Tina could just as well be planting all sorts of vicious daemons on the chip and Connor would never know. Not until it’s too late. 

Tina opens a small kit at her work station and rifles through it, using tweezers to pluck up something so small Gavin has to squint to get his optics to zoom in on what she’s holding. She then slides the tiny plate into the mod chip and, after a bit more tinkering, pieces it all together. Then, she hands it back to Connor.

“Put it in.”

Connor stares suspiciously at the chip he’s holding. “How do I know this won’t fry my cortex with malware?”

“You don’t,” Tina says, icily. “You’re just gonna have to trust that I hate the stench of scorched brains enough to not want your smoking corpse in my shop.”

After a long pause, Connor carefully slides it in. Gavin scans him, giving a low whistle as ‘Conrad Chase’s info appears in his HUD. It’s indistinguishable from the biochip every person has, used as ID whenever they makes major purchases or try to get into bars and clubs. As far as the world knows, this is Conrad Chase, an engineer for some small security tech corp no one’s ever heard of. He’s as insignificant as he needs to be to fly under everyone’s radar. 

“Preem shit, Chen,” Gavin smirks. “How much does this shit cost?”

“A mod like that is hard to make,” Tina answers. “My last client paid 15,000 eddies for one.”

_Fuuuuuuuuuuck_

“I don’t have that kind of money.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Tina says, with a wave. “Just make sure Gavin doesn’t flatline. Or, I will ask for payment and it _won’t_ be eddies.”

Connor slips his mask back on but Gavin doesn’t miss the visible shiver the detective makes. Hell, Gavin sure as fuck wouldn’t want to be at the receiving end of that threat. Tina’s threatened to kick Gavin’s ass before for some of the dumb shit he’s found himself in and what little self-preservation he has is because he knows she will drag him back from the brink of death if only to beat some sense into him. That’s something he’d like to avoid. 

“Always knew you loved me,” Gavin says, with a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t be laughing so soon,” Tina replies, her eyes glacial. “I’m still gonna kick your ass later for getting mixed up with a badge.”

Gavin gulps.

“Now, get the fuck outta my shop before I change my mind about helping you.”

She jabs the panel, unlocking the door. Connor’s happy to leave but Gavin takes the roll of eurodollars Connor gave him earlier and slips it into Tina’s hand. Tina tries to give it back but Gavin refuses.

“For all the shit I’m putting you through,” Gavin says. “Just take it, Chen.”

After another failed attempt to give it back to him, she sighs and pockets the cash. Then she pulls Gavin into her arms, hugging him tightly. “You better not flatline. I fucking mean it, G.”

“Don’t worry: I’ll be as careful as I always am.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Fuck off; I’m good at this shit.”

“Luther had to jump start your system the last job you took that went south,” Tina reminds him, referring to his ripperdoc who patched him up last month. She reluctantly releases him, as if half afraid that if she lets Gavin walk out that door, she won’t be seeing him again. “This shit reeks and I don’t trust the badge. There’s gotta be more to this than a gang wanting to stick it to him.”

Gavin has those suspicions, too, but if Connor’s holding murder charges over him, he has no choice: Deckert’s one of the last few detectives in this city who wants to clean up the streets and will put away every merc who gets in the way of that. “I’ll watch my back, Chen. Promise.”

He goes to leave but lingers in the doorway, not wanting to bounce on such a grim note. Smirk in place, he adds, slyly, “Oh, and North’s been asking ‘bout you. Wondering when’s the next time you’ll drop by Afterlife for a drink.”

A deep blush floods the netrunner’s cheeks. “She did? Th-that’s, uh, that’s cool.”

“Fucking Christ, you got it bad,” Gavin chuckles. 

“Shut it,” Tina says, smacking his shoulder.

Remembering his promise to the fixer, Gavin adds, “She likes you, Chen. And fuck, it’s not like you could do worse.”

“Is this your way of giving your blessing?”

“With your track record, think you’re gonna need my input to avoid another Teri.”

“Don’t remind me,” Tina mutters, with a sigh. She pushes him towards where Connor’s impatiently waiting. “Now get the fuck outta here before you piss off your new ‘choom’. I’ll...think about what you said.”

They exchange a final smile and Gavin turns back to Connor, the door sliding shut behind him. The smile immediately leaves his face as he catches Connor’s eyes. ‘Choom’ is the last thing he’ll ever call his new ‘partner’. 

“This way, _babe,_ ” Gavin drawls, sliding an arm around Connor’s waist. Connor tenses at the contact but Gavin doesn’t back off as he guides Connor back the way they came. In fact, he presses in even closer to Connor just to piss the asshole off. Gotta play it up for the CCTV while they’re still in the club. “You ‘n me, we’re gonna go outside and have a little chat.”

The moment they’re out of range of any cameras and stragglers trying to get into the club, Gavin grabs Connor by his bright yellow coat and throws him hard against the nearest wall. Connor’s golden eyes narrow beneath his cap but he looks otherwise unaffected as Gavin snarls at him, “The fuck was that about?! You really gonna try and burn me if I don’t fucking help you?!”

“...that remains to be seen,” Connor replies, unperturbed. “If you’re useful, I’ll reconsider handing your case off to one of my coworkers.”

Gavin smashes his fist into the wall beside Connor’s head, bits of it dusting the detective’s shoulder. Most of his left hand is chrome, shattered bone and tissue replaced after a bad run-in with the Tyger Claws a decade before. Besides his metal fingers, the only other visible reminder of his encounter with that gang is the scar across his nose. He’s replaced many parts of himself after the wild days of his youth but some marks, like his bullet wounds and shiv scars, he wears like badges of honor. 

One thing that no chrome will ever replace: his contempt for law enforcement.

“You fucking badges, always using your fucking status to get whatever the fuck you want outta assholes like me!” Gavin sneers. He rips Connor’s hat off so he can get right in the prick’s face, pressing Connor into the wall as he snaps, “You’re gonna drop everything you’ve got on me and give me your FUCKING word that this shit’s not gonna come back to bite me in the ass! Or I’m gonna find that asshole Anderson and put a bullet in his skull myself!”

“I would be careful where you direct your threats,” Connor warns.

“Oh, you think me offing your choom’s a threat?” Gavin laughs, callously. “Sweetheart, I’m just getting started.”

If looks could murder, Gavin’s sure he’d be eating his own chrome with the daggers being directed at him. He’s gotta hand it to the asshole: Connor somehow looks like that bitch you don’t want to fuck with even with his face half hidden.

“You need to relax, Reed: I was only planning to blackmail you if you refused to help me.” Connor’s voice drips with condescension, like he’s explaining this to a three year old. 

Gavin laughs cruelly. “You come in with your fucking puppy dog eyes and fucking play me like a gonk—!”

“You have your skill set; I have _mine_ ,” Connor says, his voice taking a frosty note that grates on the last of Gavin’s nerves.

Gavin snarls, hand going to his holstered gun. Connor makes an exasperated sound.

“You tried that earlier, remember?”

Gavin’s tempted to put one in the asshole’s head, regardless of it being a death sentence. With more restraint than he expects, he smacks the wall behind Connor, practically frothing at the mouth as he spits out, “You even fucking breathe in a way that pisses me off, and so help me—!” 

“Gavin…you mistake my intentions.” The glare leaves Connor’s face, though his lips pull in a troubled frown. “ _Everyone_ turned me away. I had to do _something._ So, in spite of my better judgment, I went to _you,_ the last person who had any reason to help me. I’ve been investigating you for some time and knew I could use the evidence I had on you to make you comply _.”_

“How the fuck is this supposed to make me not want to fucking murder you?!”

“Because you _listened_ ,” Connor insists. Despite that his posture seems to be _asking_ for Gavin to give the prick a reason to strike back, something softens in the detective’s eyes. “And this is before I had a chance to blackmail you. I...didn’t expect you to. And I won’t forget that.”

Gavin curses under his breath, slamming his fist once more near Connor’s head. Connor doesn’t even flinch. “I’ve known you a few hours and I’m already ankle-deep in your shit. You want my help? You’re gonna have to give me some goddamn reason to trust you. Your choom’s ass isn’t the only fucking thing on the line here, Con!”

“I’ll bury your case,” Connor promises, “and no one will come after you. You’ve got my word.”

“What fucking good is that when you already tried to dick me over?”

“Then how is _this_ for incentive?” Connor asks. A notification appears in Gavin’s HUD, requesting a financial transfer: half the eurodollars Connor offered earlier. Gavin immediately accepts. “I’ll pay you the rest once we find where Hank is being held captive.”

The hand still on Connor releases him and Gavin takes a step back, sneer still twisting his lips. He’s _somewhat_ placated but that desire to beat the shit out of Connor doesn’t disappear completely. Just his luck that he’s stuck with this asshole and now there’s more riding on it than his reputation. Fuck, he should have stayed home tonight.

“Shouldn’t you be sending these eddies to your fixer?” Gavin says, irritably.

“I trust you will give her what was negotiated earlier,” Connor replies.

Gavin should keep it all for himself, tell North the asshole stiffed him. Just so when she comes collecting, Connor will be out even more eddies. Serves the asshole right.

“Double when we find him!” Gavin says. “Or I walk.”

Might as well milk this bullshit gig for all he can get. 

Connor looks ready to argue but seems to think better of it. Smart move: Gavin can go all fucking night. He’s got no shortage of juice when it comes to being a stubborn prick. “...deal. But he better be _alive_ when we do _._ ”

Gavin has zero fucks to give about whatever happens to Anderson. But, if he wants to see those eddies, and stay off the NCPD’s radar, he’ll have to go along with this.

“Don’t fucking worry; we’ll find the old prick.” Pushing away from the wall, Gavin begins strolling away from Connor, heading to where he parked his car. “We’ll start at that bar you said he called you from. Maybe ask if anyone remembers seeing him that night.”

“Don’t you think that’s the first place we looked?” Connor says, following after Gavin. “The detective we sent spoke with the staff and no one said they saw Hank.”

“Course they’re gonna say that: you really think some barkeep’s gonna tell an asshole badge ‘bout some other asshole badge who went missing?” Gavin looks at Connor as if he’s an idiot. “ _This_ is why you came to _me_ : no one in this city wants anything to do with you fuckers. But they’ll talk to me ‘cuz they know that if I got skin in the game, I’m only looking out for myself and not working for no badges.”

“Ironic how it won’t be the case this time,” Connor remarks dryly.

“Don’t fucking remind me,” Gavin mutters. 

He uses his HUD to unlock his car and opens the driver’s side. As Connor goes around to the passenger’s side, Gavin locks it. “Whoa, where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“...are we not going to the bar?”

“In the morning,” Gavin answers. “Need to go home, scrub myself clean of your bullshit, and get a few hours of shut eye before rolling back in it.”

“ _This_ is a time sensitive case, Reed,” Connor argues. “The longer we wait—!”

“Your choom’s no good to them _dead,_ ” Gavin argues back. He sighs and runs a hand through his mussed hair. He really can’t believe he needs to explain what’s so obvious. “Go home, get some fucking rest, and we’ll head to that bar when it’s not full of drunken assholes and blaring shitty club mixes. Trust me: the assholes who took Hank _want_ you to know he’s still alive or you have no reason to give into their demands.”

Connor releases the handle of the door, stepping back from the vehicle and crossing his arms over his chest. “We go first thing in the morning. No later.”

Gavin opens his car door, ducking inside and going for the glove compartment. He then grabs one of the burner phones he has stashed in there and chucks it to Connor, who easily catches it. “Use that to contact me. And don’t go doing something stupid like leaving that shit at work. Don’t need no more badges blowing up my phone.”

“You’ll find I’m not that careless,” Connor says, putting away the phone. After a moment, he adds, “Have a goodnight, Reed. I...look _forward_ to working with you.”

His tone says he feels many things _except_ that.

Gavin flips him off, gets into the vehicle, and floors it before he works himself up into another angry fit. It’s hard to think of what awaits him the next morning without wanting to bash in the steering wheel. But his baby doesn’t deserve abuse for the shit mood some detective put him in so Gavin forces his frustration from his mind as he drives back to his apartment. 

Why do the pretty ones always have to be such obnoxious dickheads?

Once home, he makes good on his plan to shower, cleaning the stench of smoke and shitty nightclub fumes from his skin and hair. But not even the roar of the shower can silence that voice in his head berating him for being made the detective’s bitch. Now, who knows how much shit he’ll find himself in, running around the city to save a fucking _badge_ who probably deserves worse than the beatings he’s already taken? Fuck everything.

Flopping down on his couch, Gavin groans uncomfortably as his stiff erection presses to his boxer-briefs. He’s spent so much time obsessing over how much he _hates_ Detective Asshole, he forgot his night off was supposed to be about getting his dick sucked and pounding some tight-assed twink. Even when Connor’s not here, the asshole’s ruining his life.

Taking his tablet from the coffee table, Gavin swipes the screen and opens the Net app. He scrolls through vids from his favorite porn site, pulling his dick out once he finds one that _should_ do the trick. Christ, does he need to rub one out after the night he’s had.

He rolls his thumb over the head of his cock, swallowing a soft groan in his throat. Thumbing the ball of his Prince Albert, he presses gently on it, releasing a small shudder as a wave of bliss rocks through him. Gavin’s eyes flick to the video he’s watching—some wide-eyed brunette deep throating his beefier partner—and begins to stroke himself in time with the brunette’s gargles each time the dick on screen hits the back of their throat. 

_This_ is what Gavin should be getting right now. When this gig’s finished, first thing he’s doing is spending his eddies on top shelf liquor and taking home the tightest piece of ass he can find.

But as he picks up the pace, palm slicked by his pre-cum, Gavin’s mind wanders. He loses focus on the filth playing out in front of him, imagines instead it’s someone else’s hand touching him. Once he realizes _who_ he’s fantasizing about, Gavin exhales in frustration. But nothing he tells himself can get him to stop picturing Connor and his stupid punchable face.

“Asshole,” he mumbles, a groan echoing at the back of his throat.

So, Gavin rolls with it, beating himself off to those snarky lips wrapped around his dick. Golden eyes and furrowed brows studying him with a mixture of contempt and intrigue as Gavin tugs Connor by his dark locks, forcing his mouth farther down Gavin’s cock. Connor chokes on the thickness filling his throat but fuck is the badge eager, sucking Gavin off with what has to be embittered determination. Thirsty for what Gavin’s giving him but too proud to pretend he has anything but disdain for the merc. A tightness builds low in Gavin’s abdomen and he strokes himself faster. 

“Shit!” he curses, with a broken whine. The ache leaves a pressure in him he can feel in his balls, pleasure that crescendos until he can no longer cling to it. With a choked cry, Gavin spills to the image of white threads painting Connor’s pretty cheeks, an unimpressed frown furrowing Connor’s brows.

Fuck, even in Gavin’s fantasies, Connor’s an absolute prick.

Cleaning up and collapsing onto his bed, Gavin begins to drift off to sleep. His last thoughts before he succumbs to his exhaustion are _not_ of Connor. Not his stupid jacket, nor his stupid eyes, nor his smart mouth that Gavin can’t be sure he wants to punch or fuck...

He’s got better things to distract his brain with.

After all, Gavin _knows_ his limits and if there’s one thing he can be sure of, it’s that he _hates_ Connor and that no amount of eddies will ever endear the manipulative prick to him.

None at all.


	2. Murder Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Gavin retrace Anderson’s steps from the night he disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you for the comments, kudos, and for giving this fic some love! I'll try to update this every Sunday until the fic is finished. So far, it's looking like I might have to stretch this out to nine chapters but we'll see how it goes. 
> 
> Special thanks to [Sky_Willows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skye_Willows) for beta reading. You've been super helpful and amazing! Also, I want to give a shout out to [BrightestStarintheSky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightestStarInTheSky/pseuds/BrightestStarInTheSky) for keeping me motivated and helping me with some of the elements in this fic. I don't think I could have written it without your encouragement. Much love to both of you. 
> 
> Tags are updated with each chapter so be sure to check them before continuing.
> 
> Happy reading!

_BZZZ! BZZZ! BZZZ!_

Gavin yawns, throwing an arm over his face. Determined to sleep through the noise, he turns away from the source, curling onto his side. However, it doesn’t stop. 

_BZZZ! BZZZ! BZZZ!_

With a groan, Gavin groggily rolls over. He blindly reaches out, grasps for his phone, and blearily blinks his eyes open. 

_8:12 AM????_

The burner number appears in the ID.

Putting his phone on silent, Gavin throws the blanket over his head and falls back asleep within seconds.

Three hours, and a series of missed calls and angry messages later, Gavin reluctantly gets out of bed. He then takes his sweet time showering, shaving, and getting ready for the day. Only once he’s downed most of his breakfast—a burrito from the vending machine in his apartment—does Gavin bother checking his messages. Predictably, they grow progressively angrier as he scrolls through them.

[Burner Phone 8 8:12 AM]

_Gavin? Are you awake?_

[Burner Phone 8 8:12 AM]

_Are we meeting soon?_

[Burner Phone 8 8:13 AM]

_Message me when you wake up._

[Burner Phone 8 9:03 AM]

_I’ve called numerous times. Are you ignoring me?_

[Burner Phone 8 9:04 AM]

_This isn’t funny, Gavin._

[Burner Phone 8 9:04 AM]

_You said we’d meet first thing in the morning._

[Burner Phone 8 9:41 AM]

_I’m running out on patience. If you don’t answer soon, I’m revoking our deal._

[Burner Phone 8 10:18 AM]

_Pick up the phone._

[Burner Phone 8 11:46 AM]

_You have until noon._

_...or what? You’ll blackmail me into helping you?_ Gavin thinks, smirking.

Connor’s got him by the balls. The asshole _knows_ it. But just because Gavin’s going along with it, it doesn’t mean he’s not going to be a difficult piece of shit every step of the way.

An incoming call notification pops up on the phone’s screen. Noon, right on the dot.

Gavin lets it ring a few times before answering it. As Connor’s angry face appears on the screen, Gavin reclines back on his couch and drawls, “Who’s this?”

“You _know_ who it is,” Connor snaps.

“And here I was hoping all that shit last night was a bad dream.”

“It’s not. Let me remind you I’m paying you to do a job.”

Connor’s agitation is obvious, with his lips pulled in a frown and that ever-present furrow between his brows. It somehow makes the circles beneath his eyes look more pronounced, like the gonk hasn’t slept in weeks. Probably not, if dipshit thinks getting up at the crack of dawn and bombarding Gavin with passive-aggressive texts is the best way to start the day. 

“Well good morning to you too, Princess.”

“It’s _noon_ ,” Connor says, dryly. “I’ve been calling all morning. Where the hell are you?!”

“At home. Where the fuck else would I be?”

Connor makes a frustrated sound. Nothing’s ever sounded sweeter to Gavin’s ears. “Meet me in Japantown as soon as you can. I’m sending you the address now.” His voice taking a dangerous edge, he adds, “Don’t make me wait.”

Connor hangs up before Gavin can make an obnoxious remark about needing more time to get ready. In truth, he’s considering sitting back, watching some vids, and maybe jacking off just to kill time. The longer he takes, the more pissed off Connor will get, and nothing would satisfy Gavin more.

But, seeing as there’s nothing interesting on the Net, Gavin decides to do the responsible thing and is on the road to Japantown not twenty minutes later. The address Connor sent him is a place Gavin’s been to a few times before: Megabuilding 8. It’s near the redlight district, made popular for its sex clubs and braindance bars, with joytoys hanging around every corner. Gavin used to love visiting the area and can’t remember for the life of him why it’s been forever since he’s been back there.

The answer comes to him not seconds after he arrives at the spot Connor said he’d meet him. Gavin’s eyes fall on the SCSM Connor’s conversing with and that good mood he was in immediately evaporates.

“Oh, fuck me,” Gavin groans.

The vending machine lights up—literally blinking brighter—when it catches sight of Gavin. Or scans him. Fucking thing doesn’t have eyes but these stupid lights across the top of the machine that makes it look like it has a face. 

“Gavin! What a surprise! I was just telling Conrad that I know you!”

The talking SCSM—Brendan—is one of the monstrosities created by Cyberlife. Leave it to Elijah Kamski to decide that the best way to get into the convenience market is to create vending machines with AI. Not only are they creepy as all fuck but they never seem to forget _anything—_ not even when a dumbass solo accidentally does one of the fucking things a favor.

“Brendan was telling me all about that time you saved him from being defaced. I never knew you were such an _upstanding citizen,_ ” Connor says, wearing a smirk on his lips. 

For fuck’s sake. Gavin beat the shit out of the asshole who was going to spray paint all over it because the prick got on the bad side of Jericrew—Markus’ gang—and owed Jericrew money. It was a _job_ but now the idiot machine is making Gavin out to be some vigilante protecting Night City’s streets from every third-rate thug. 

“It wasn’t fucking like that!” Gavin protests. “You really think I give a shit if some asshole draws dicks all over your face?!”

Shielding his face from view, Gavin turns to Connor and whispers, loudly, “Seriously, stop fucking talking to it. Maybe if we don’t move, it’ll think we’re not fucking here.”

“You’re so funny, Gavin; of course I know you’re here!” Brendan, the sentient SCSM, says. “Gavin has the best sense of humor! This is why we’re friends!”

“We are not fucking friends, Tin Can!” Gavin snaps at it. 

“Correction: we are _best friends_!” Brendan exclaims.

_Fucking kill me now,_ Gavin thinks, completely mortified. He sighs, runs his hands through his hair, most likely mussing up what he carefully styled earlier. What a fucking day this is turning out to be. “Fuck, haven’t even had my morning coffee yet and already gotta deal with this shit.”

The machine dings and distributes a can of Gavin’s favorite cold coffee brand. “For my _best_ friend, Gavin, free of charge!”

Gavin flips it off. But, never being one to turn down free food, he takes it. Plus, he can really use the caffeine fix, which Brendan must be aware of. How is a vending machine knowing his coffee needs not eerie as all fuck?! “Fuck, not even a life time of your shitty coffee will make up for the shit you say about me. You’re ruining my street cred, you plastic prick!”

“But I have only told people the _truth_ ,” the machine insists. “Gavin Reed is a hero! He is the kind of person everyone in Night City should aspire to be! There is no one more kind-hearted, more considerate, more noble than—”

Connor snorts.

Gavin gives him a dirty look. “Can we go? Doubt you dragged my ass outta bed for _this._ ”

“Would you also like a free coffee, Conrad?” the vending machine asks. “Any friend of Gavin’s is a friend of mine.”

“WE’RE NOT FRIENDS!”

Connor smiles. “I would _love_ a coffee, Brendan. Do you have Americano?”

“Coming right up!”

“Thank you—oof!”

Gavin drags Connor roughly away from the SCSM, Brendan calling for his ‘best friend’ to visit again sometime. As they catch the attention of passersby, a deep blush fills Gavin’s cheeks. Whoever said AI was the future never had a creepy-ass vending machine self-declare itself their new best friend.

Once they are no longer within sight of the SCSM, Gavin releases Connor. Connor, whose face remains hidden beneath his mask, makes a show of dusting himself off. He then goes to open his coffee but then stares at his drink with uncertainty.

With a roll of his eyes, Gavin takes out two small devices from his pocket. He then hands his coffee to Connor, who gives him a confused look. When Gavin tries to place the devices in the port above each of Connor’s ears, the detective steps back.

“I’m not wearing those.”

“Would you chill? Everyone’s wearing these. It’ll make you look less fucking conspicuous than that dumb mask,” Gavin replies. “Fuck, what’re you, some kinda ripperdoc? No one’s been wearing masks like this since the 20s.”

Connor makes an irate sound but doesn’t resist the second time Gavin tries to put on the devices. Once they are in place, connecting to Connor’s neural implants, a blue holographic beam shrouds the detective’s eyes, like a visor. Up close, Gavin can still see Connor’s eyes but when he takes a step back, Connor’s eyes become hidden behind the holographic glasses. 

Gavin takes back his coffee and smirks. “See? Looking less like a douchebag cop already.”

Connor removes his mask, frowning at Gavin. “I look like a member of Jericrew.”

“ _Exactly._ How else you gonna blend in?”

“I’ve somehow managed to get this far without your advice,” Connor remarks.

“Fuck knows how. How the fuck do any of you badges get shit done when you’re using shitty mods and dressing like those chromers from the classic vids?” Gavin eyes Connor up and down, still undecided how he feels about the bright yellow three-quarter sleeve jacket with its blue lights inlaid in the inner collar. The slim fitted jeans and tight shirt hugging the detective’s torso? _That_ Gavin is definitely digging.

Connor grows increasingly uncomfortable, pink dusting his pale cheeks. He shifts his weight between his feet. “Would you _stop_ staring at me?”

“Hey, just gotta make sure you don’t smell of nark before we hit that bar.” To make his point, Gavin sniffs the air close to Connor, ignoring the detective’s sound of disgust. Whatever cologne Connor’s wearing, it gives off an earthy scent, one Gavin doesn’t find entirely unpleasant. Something curls low in Gavin’s chest and he must be making some sort of face because Connor’s glancing at him strangely.

Coughing uncomfortably, Gavin steps away, flushing. Him and Connor both look away from each other, each taking a sip from their drinks. Connor’s the first to speak up and motions for Gavin to follow him.

“Jimmy’s Izakaya is this way.” 

They head around the corner, passing by other SCSMs. At least these ones aren’t trying to offer Gavin lifelong friendship and free coffee. Passing beneath a giant red arch, Gavin and Connor descend the stairs in what Gavin wishes was companionable silence. Instead, Connor decides to fill the quiet with more of his unwanted bullshit life advice. He can feel the assholes eyes on him as Connor takes another drink of his coffee. After a moment, Connor says, “You know, you shouldn’t be so hard on Brendan: he’s quite fond of you.”

Gavin makes a derisive sound. “ _He?_ Don’t you mean ‘it’? It’s not even alive.”

“He seems to believe he is,” Connor argues.

“Cyberlife made those things so people will buy more of their shit,” Gavin says. “Why go to a cafe when all you gotta do is tell the Tin Can your order _once_ and it never forgets your face? What is it the ads always say? It’s ‘the next phase of convenience’.”

“...you aren’t even going to consider the possibility that Brendan is more than a SCSM?”

“It’s a _machine_ ,” Gavin hisses. “It’s programmed to act that way.”

Connor doesn’t say anything else. If Gavin didn’t know better, he’d almost think he offended him.

They take another set of stairs down into a plaza, a brightly-lit market of shops that’s always bustling with people. Passing by the stalls, Connor guides Gavin to the restaurants at the edge of the market. As the silence between them grows more uncomfortable, Gavin distracts himself by scanning the shops around them, though nothing is really to his taste: he likes yakitori as much as the next guy but he knows better places where he can get decent grilled chicken at half the eddies. There’s a reason he’s not spending his Friday nights here burning through his hard-earned money. Spectacle over quality. _That s_ hould be Japantown’s motto. 

Connor stops in front of a shop and exchanges a look with Gavin. Jimmy’s Izakaya.

“Remember: _I_ do the talking,” Gavin reminds him. 

“You say that like you expect me to screw up.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you badges fuck shit up,” Gavin mutters. 

The bar’s open, at least, though from what Gavin can see, there’s maybe one or two customers inside. He steps closer and the automatic door swishes open. With a glance over his shoulder, he says to Connor, quietly, “Keep your head down, your mouth shut, and try not to go ‘bad cop’ if these assholes give us a hard time. You’re not a cop, you’re just some rookie I’m showing the ropes to, got it?”

He can’t be sure but he suspects Connor’s glaring at him beneath that visor. Whatever. It’s not like the prick has a better plan.

“いらっしゃいませ,” the woman serving drinks at a booth near them says. Gavin’s heard the greeting enough times but the translation, ‘ _Welcome,’_ still appears in the bottom of his HUD. Gavin scans her: Aki Peterson. He guesses she must be Jimmy’s wife. 

“My friend ‘n I will have two beers. Whatever you have on tap,” Gavin says, clapping Connor hard on the shoulder when the detective opens his mouth to argue. He then directs Connor over to the bar and plops down on one of the stools. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Connor whispers, irritably. “We’re not here to drink.”

“We’re blending in, smart ass,” Gavin whispers back at him. “Who the fuck goes to the bar in the middle of a day unless it’s to drink?”

Connor reluctantly seats himself on the stool beside Gavin. As their drinks are placed in front of them, Connor glowers at his like it’s lukewarm piss. Recalling some of the watered down shit Gavin’s had over the years, he hopes to God the stuff here is better than that.

Feeling more adventurous than Connor, Gavin takes a generous drink of his. With the taste of coffee still in his mouth, he can’t say chasing that down with beer is the best decision he’s ever made. But upon receiving a judgmental look from Connor, who clearly doesn’t approve of day drinking, Gavin takes another swig of it. Anything to stick it to the badge seated next to him. 

Connor, not like the type to sit still for long and enjoy the scenery, turns to Aki at the other side of the bar and asks, “Were you working here on Sunday night? I have a friend who—”

Gavin kicks Connor’s leg.

Aki looks at them strangely.

“Don’t mind my choom. He doesn’t get out much,” Gavin explains. He points to the glowing screen behind her, featuring some new pop sensation from Japan. Though Gavin’s never really been into JPop, he asks, “You a fan?”

Aki’s face lights up, her green lips pulling into a wide grin.

And that’s how Gavin finds himself in one long meandering conversation about music he has never heard of and idols he couldn’t give two shits about. Connor’s patience grows thinner the longer Gavin drags it out, if the murderous look he’s wearing is any indication. Since they’re seated so close together, he can catch the ever present furrowing of the detective’s brows beneath his visor. It only encourages Gavin to keep going—gushing over pretty men who he can tell has had cybernetic enhancements to make them that flawless. Eventually, he’s able to steer the conversation where he wants it, after Aki shows him an idol with a rather sexy sleeve tattoo. 

“—and this one’s from this VR game I used to play,” Gavin says, indicating to the skull of a billy goat on his right forearm, above the XIII. “Main character had it so I thought, ‘Why the fuck not’? Got hammered one night ‘n my choom here,” and Gavin claps Connor on the shoulder, grinning wider as Connor tries to shirk off his hand, “took me to the parlor. Next thing you know, I had this fucking billy goat on my arm!”

Aki giggles and glances between the two of them. “You two must be very... _close._ ”

“Closer than I’d like to be,” Connor mumbles, shrugging off Gavin’s hand.

But Gavin throws his arm around Connor and sidles in closer to the detective. “We’re two chips in a cyberdeck. Hey, wanna see the new ink I’m thinking of getting?”

Aki leans over the bar as Gavin pulls out his phone. He brings up the image Tina sent him the night before, the one of a serpent slithering through the eyes of a dead animal skull. He gauges Aki’s reaction and notes the sudden tensing of her posture.

There’s no doubt in his mind: she _knows_ what this is.

“Saw some asshole with this the other night,” Gavin says, casually. “Thinking maybe I should spruce up the billy goat tat, give it the preem over it deserves. What’d’you think?”

She’s silent, seeming to carefully choose her words. Her pink brows remain furrowed in a frown as she finally answers, “...I think you came here for more than an afternoon beer.”

A large hand comes down protectively on Aki’s shoulder. When Gavin glances at the man beside her—his optic scanner identifying him as the bar’s owner, Jimmy Peterson—Gavin puts on his most charming, carefree smile. Jimmy looks two seconds away from throwing him out on his ass. He’ll need to tread carefully.

“These guys bothering you, sweetie?” Jimmy asks.

“Just having a friendly conversation with your girl, Jim,” Gavin says, not giving her a chance to answer. “No one’s asking for trouble.”

Jimmy looks at Gavin nonplussed. He then glances at Gavin’s phone, at the image on the screen. Similar to Aki, it makes him tense up. It seems that whatever the image means, it’s enough to make people want to keep their mouths shut.

“Name’s Gavin,” Gavin tries, laying on the charm thicker, “But you can call me ‘G’.”

Guaranteed, this guy has to have heard of him. By now, everyone in Westbrook and Watson has.

“So, you’re the infamous Gavin Reed,” Jimmy starts. He whispers something to Aki and she nods in understanding, disappearing somewhere to the back of the izakaya. Jimmy then takes the empty glass sitting in front of Gavin. Connor’s remains untouched. “Want another?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Gavin answers. His grin becomes smarmy, even if he knows he’s walking on thin ice. He can’t help but preen as he says, “Guess you’ve heard of me.”

“Course I have. That damn machine outside the Megabuilding won’t shut up about you,” Jimmy grumbles.

Connor snorts back a laugh.

Gavin’s smile falters. Great. Here he was hoping to become Night City’s next biggest legend and instead, the assholes in Japantown know him as Brendan’s best choom. He’s gonna have to put in a complaint at Cyberlife and get the thing decommissioned if it doesn’t learn to shut the fuck up about him.

“Listen: I’m not here to take any sides,” Jimmy says, his light tone carrying a slight edge to it. “We got Tyger Claws, Jericrew, more gangs than I can keep track of. The folks who come here don’t come looking for trouble. So I don’t need any hot headed solos popping in trying to find it. You boys best finish up and be on your way.”

“Come on, Jim,” Gavin tries again, forcing a jovial laugh, “do I look like the kinda prick who’d come in to start shit with you?”

“I know your type,” Jimmy responds, coolly. “When you don’t get the answers you want, you shake down everyone between you and your next paycheck. So don’t try ‘n sell me your ‘honor among thieves’ speech cuz I ain’t buying it.”

He points to the door, no longer pretending to be polite. The frown he gives Gavin sends a clear message: he’s not fucking around. “Now, I’m gonna tell you one last time to take your goddamn business somewhere else—”

“You’ve known Hank for years,” Connor interrupts, ignoring the sharp look Gavin’s giving him, “He always talked about you.”

Jimmy tenses. Glancing over Connor’s shoulder, the bartender surveys the bar, as if he suddenly expects cops to burst through the doors. Leaning in closer to Connor and Gavin, Jimmy whispers, quietly, “...you one of the badges? Cuz you look familiar—”

“Just a concerned choom,” Gavin interrupts, drawing Jimmy’s attention away from Connor. “Paid me to find Hank. You know how them badges are: they sit around and do jack shit unless there’s something in it for them. So Conrad here came to a professional.”

Connor stiffens.

“We _know_ Hank was here,” Gavin says, his tone becoming serious. “We’re not asking you to rat out your choom: all we want is to find him before he gets himself in trouble..”

Jimmy sighs. Though he doesn’t quite let his guard down, his expression goes from frosty to worried. Leaning on the bar, he answers, “If you’re really Hank’s choom, then you know how it is with him: he disappears from time to time, takes a few ‘personal days’ in a No-Tell Motel with a joytoy. He’s not been the same since losing the wife and kid.”

Gavin glances at Connor, whose frown deepens. The badge failed to mention his friend likes joytoys. Maybe that’s how Hank went from the bar to bound and beaten in a warehouse.

“Wanna know what I think?” Jimmy adds as he wipes down the top of the bar. “My money’s on him being holed up somewhere. And wherever he is, he doesn’t want to be bothered.”

“You may be right,” Connor concedes. “But you still haven’t confirmed Hank was here Sunday night.”

He stares hard at Jimmy, planting himself firmly in his bar stool. It’s clear to all of them that Connor’s not moving until Jimmy starts talking.

Jimmy pauses, chewing on his lower lip. After a moment, he caves. “...fine. He was here. But I cut him off before he had too much. He stuck around for a bit and left sometime after 1.”

“Was he with someone or alone?”

“Alone,” Jimmy answers. “You ever know him to be a social drinker?”

“Dammit, Hank,” Connor mutters, with a shake of his head.

“You sure he wasn’t followed?” Gavin asks.

“How the hell should I know?” Jimmy shrugs. “He chatted with me a bit, complained about work, then said somethin’ about meeting someone later.”

“Did he say who?” 

“His ripper? A Joytoy? Could be one of his work buddies, for all I know.”

Gavin looks over at Connor, who now wears a troubled look. They are near the red light district so it’s not like Hank would have traveled far to get his dick wet. That theory that a joytoy set him up is starting to look more plausible.

“One last thing,” Gavin says, holding up his phone, “you gonna tell us ‘bout this? Might be important.”

Jimmy scrutinizes the photo. “If I do, do you two promise you’ll leave us out of whatever the hell you’ve got planned? I don’t need these gangers busting up my bar.”

“You have our word: this will be the last you see of us,” Connor promises.

Satisfied, Jimmy answers, “...I’ve seen some kids with this tattoo, some new gang in Kabuki.” 

“Any of them here that night?” Gavin asks. 

“Maybe. Can’t remember.” When Gavin gives him a firm look, Jimmy explains, “Weekends get busy. You can’t expect me to remember every ganger and chromer who pops in for some drinks.” 

Thanking him, Connor pays for the drinks. 

Once they are back outside, Connor begins to pace while Gavin leans against the grimy wall, watching the detective mull over everything they’ve got so far. He makes a face as a cockroach crawls near his foot and kicks it away with his combat boot.

“A gang in Kabuki...this doesn’t make sense,” Connor mutters. 

“Tyger Claws got a stronghold there. So does Jericrew,” Gavin points out. “Whoever these pricks are, they’re operating right under TC noses.”

“The Tyger Claws have been around for decades. Jericrew’s only been there for a few years and things have been quiet recently after a supposed truce between Markus and Hamada.” Connor scrunches his nose, referring to the leaders of the two gangs. The expression would almost be cute if he wasn’t some shit stain badge. “Why would anyone disrupt that?”

Gavin scratches at the scar across his nose, thinking. “...you think maybe some Tyger Claws went rogue?”

But that doesn’t seem right. Gavin’s sure he would’ve heard _something_ from the Moxes if anyone in the Tyger Claws was breaking rank. Northside is where all the recent gang violence seems to be concentrated and the Tyger Claws have no interest in that part of the city. 

“Doubtful.” 

Connor stops pacing.

“Hank’s precinct is in Kabuki,” Connor says. His face colors as he adds, somewhat embarrassed. “From what I remember, back when I was working there, every local gang paid us to...‘look the other way’.”

Gavin makes a rude sound. “’Cept you didn’t, and you went after Zlatko.”

“A point you’re not letting me forget,” Connor mutters.

“No shit, Con,” Gavin retorts. “You know him and The Scavs had operations all over the city. Probably paid off every station between Watson and Pacifica. But you still had to go play hero and slap cuffs on him.”

“I am more than aware of what happened and what I did,” Connor says, heatedly. “It doesn’t change that everyone else—Hank included—knew when to keep their head down. Why risk ruining the arrangement to get back at me?”

“’Cuz you broke the truce _first_ ,” Gavin reprimands him. “ _You_ went and pissed off the assholes lining the badge’s pockets. It don’t matter that you transferred or that someone made an example of that Captain...uh, the fuck was his name?”

“Fowler,” Connor answers, quietly.

“The thing is, you disrupted the balance,” Gavin accuses. “That’s why they’re still gunning for you.”

Gavin remembers the scandal when the 99th precinct’s captain was found hanged. A suicide, the media claims, but everyone knew better. Despite Zlatko being behind bars, he put a giant hit on Captain Fowler and within days, the captain was offed as a message to everyone in Night City: don’t fuck with the gangs.

Seems Connor hasn’t been listening to that message.

“Are you really trying to blame me for Fowler’s death?” Connor demands. There’s a waver in his voice, regret laden with barely contained anger. “ _He_ made his choices, like I’ve made mine, and there are consequences—!”

“Fuck, I don’t give a shit ‘bout some dead badge!” Gavin snaps. “Why the fuck are we even arguing about this?”

Flustered and embarrassed, Connor looks away. Gavin knows the detective has more to say but decides against voicing whatever thoughts are running through his head. Good. Gavin doesn’t have the patience to pretend he ‘cares’ about one of the NCPD’s corrupt brass kicking the bucket. 

“Whatever hangups you have about the shit you got _yourself_ into, keep them to your fucking self,” Gavin says. “You paid me to find your choom so let’s go find him.”

The guilt on Connor’s face almost makes Gavin feel bad but given the corruption in this city, he’s learned to keep his empathy in short stock and only to those who deserve it. Connor’s a goddamn hypocrite anyway: he might tell himself he doesn’t feel bad for what happened to that asshole Fowler but it’s obviously not the case.

It’s not Gavin’s job to tell Connor what he _wants_ to hear.

“So what do you suggest we do next?” Connor asks, his voice edged with irritation. He shuffles a step away from Gavin to put more physical distance between them. The change in subject barely slices through the thick tension between them but Gavin’s still grateful for it. “We can’t exactly approach every major gang in Kabuki and ask them if they know who we’re looking for.”

Gavin’s about to make a snide quip about how obviously stupid that plan is when he’s hit with an idea. 

_Fuck, that might be the first useful thing this prick’s said all day,_ Gavin realizes.

“Maybe we can,” Gavin says. 

Connor stares at him quizzically.

With a smirk, Gavin pulls out his phone and holo dials North. After two rings, the owner of Afterlife appears on the screen. “Hey, North. Was wondering if I can cash in on that favor…”

* * *

Hours later, Gavin and Connor find themselves in the north end of Little China, at an outdoor market. The sun’s begun to dip but the colorful hues of the evening sky are mostly blocked out by the towering skyscrapers around them, not that anyone cares. The aromas coming from the food stalls are enough to distract the people milling about the marketplace and Gavin would be tempted to grab some chuan’r, if he wasn’t here on business. He’s gotta hand it to North: even he wasn’t expecting her to set up a meeting this soon.

“Is that the place?” Connor asks.

Gavin scans the sign: 上海麵家. The words “Shanghai Noodle House” appear in his HUD.

“Looks like it,” Gavin answers.

He weaves through the growing crowd and slips inside the restaurant, Connor following him. Gavin startles as he glances around the well-kept establishment, with everything from crystal silverware to a small chandelier shining over a shallow koi pond. This place is way too nice for some market in Watson. 

Before Gavin’s had the chance to open his mouth, the host says, “Mr. Reed? Mr. Manfred has been expecting you.”

Exchanging a look with Connor, Gavin and his temporary partner follow the host to the back of the restaurant. It’s fancy and a lot cleaner than most of Watson: outside of the corpo districts in the city center, it’s hard to find a building that’s not crawling with roaches or has garbage piled up around it. He’s learned to become suspicious of places that look too clean and sterile: it usually means the owner’s licking some corpo’s asshole.

So, naturally, Gavin’s on his guard. Connor, on the other hand, seems almost _too comfortable_ here.

“A server will be with you shortly,” the host says.

“Don’t worry about it,” Markus responds. “They won’t be staying long.”

It sounds almost like a warning, underlying how precious Markus’ time is.

The host nods and then disappears back into the restaurant, the door sliding shut behind Gavin and Connor.

Somehow, Gavin feels more like a convicted felon tossed into a den of lions than a would-be customer.

A pair of mismatched eyes regard him curiously. “Have a seat.”

Gavin takes a moment, like he’s considering disobeying the order. It’s his way of keeping face in the presence of the man who’s rumored to have made Hide Hamada piss himself in the last bloody scuffle between Jericrew and the Tyger Claws. It’s the same shootout where Markus is said to have lost his right eye, now replaced with a blue Kiroshi optic. Hamada hadn’t been as lucky; Markus busted his legs up so bad that the mob boss is now pure chrome from the knees down.

If the rumors of the fragile truce between the Tyger Claws and Jericrew has any truth to it, the reason the Tyger claws are still around is only because Markus showed them mercy.

Once Connor seats himself, Gavin takes the chair next to him. The xiaolong bao on the table smells and looks tastier than anything Gavin’s seen in a while but he won’t dare reach for any when Markus has made it clear that this meeting is pure business. Fuck, Gavin should have eaten something before coming here.

“North says you need intel on a gang,” Markus starts. He pauses, dips one of the large dumplings in the black vinegar sauce, and then pops the entire thing in his mouth, chewing on it slowly. It’s like the asshole is milking the authority his presence commands for shits and giggles. Gavin lets him: even he isn’t dumb enough to cross the leader of Jericrew. 

When Markus finishes swallowing the dumpling, he continues. “Normally, I don’t work with badges but after that job for did for us, G, I’m feeling a little generous.”

He looks pointedly at Connor, whose lips are parted as Connor lies, “I’m not a—”

“Connor, _no,_ ” Gavin hisses.

That Markus hasn’t shot Gavin on the spot for bringing a badge to him is Markus making good on his claim to generosity. Lying to his face would be spitting on whatever good mood the gangster must be in. 

Connor, thankfully, shuts up.

“How’d you know?” Gavin asks.

“North tipped me off,” Markus answers. He looks once more at Connor, studying and probably scanning him. “She pegged you for a badge the other night. Not sure how she found out but she seems to think you’re that detective, Connor Deckert. Now that I’ve had a good look at you, I can see why she thinks that.”

Must have been that shitty chip Connor was using. Well, at least Tina’s upgrade is working if Markus’ optics can’t pick it up. But now Gavin’s wondering why the fuck North took the gig when she’s known all along that ‘Conrad Chase’ was a fake alias.

“So, Mr Chase,” Markus says, scrutinizing Connor, “is my choom right?”

A pregnant pause. 

“She is,” Connor admits, truthfully. “I’m...a little surprised she accepted the job. She’s known for not working with cops.”

“Don’t underestimate her. North’s always looked out for her best interests. If she’s accepted work from you, it means she’ll be expecting more than eddies later,” Markus says. 

It’s all beginning to make sense. North, unlike most of the fixers in this city, is throwing in her lot with the one badge who’s proven he has the drive and means to take on the crime world. It’s not a bad position to be in, now that she’s backed Connor into a corner, meaning that if Connor wants to get any closer to finding Hank, he’s going to have to break his own moral code.

_Don’t I know the fucking feeling,_ Gavin thinks, moodily. 

Part of him also feels like North’s thrown him to the wolves with Connor. And after he set her up with Chen—

“Does this mean you’ll work with us?” Connor asks.

“That’s the million eurodollar question, isn’t it?” Markus replies, cryptically.

He takes another dumpling and chews contemplatively on it. Gavin waits with bated breath, too nervous to look away. When Markus finishes, he says, “If anyone but North asked me to hear you guys out, I would’ve told them to take their business elsewhere. But I know you’re reliable, G, and whenever I call in the favor you _will_ owe me, you’ll be good for it.”

Gavin swallows the sudden lump that sticks in his throat. Not that it surprises him but he should’ve known that a meeting with Markus would come with a price tag.

“ _You_ , on the other hand,” and Markus turns his critical gaze onto Connor, “you’re more of a wild card. Everyone knew Zlatko owned the nine-nine but you went above the brass and put him away. That would almost be impressive...if it didn’t make you the largest rat in the room.”

His gaze becomes colder.

“Zlatko may have paid off my coworkers but I never touched his bribes,” Connor says, his voice taking on a similar edge. “Fowler, Ramirez—,” he hesitates, but adds, “Anderson. They stayed loyal and told me to mind my business. But...I didn’t. I went above them to the only person willing to issue Zlatko’s warrant.”

“How exactly does this make me want to work with you?” Markus inquires, coolly. “All you’re telling me is you have connections that go above your precinct. And from what I recall, you’re working in the only police department that refuses to be bought. You can see why I’m not jumping at the chance to get involved in your search: you’ve given me no reason to trust you won’t do to me what you did to Andronikov.”

“You’ll have to trust that there are people I’m...less inclined to associate with if it means they can help me find Anderson,” Connor says. “I’m here with a merc: doesn’t that show you how desperate I am?”

“G’s good, sure, but I don’t know him personally enough to trust his judgment.”

Gavin exhales in frustration. Neither Connor nor Markus even glance in his direction, the two staring each other down across the table. Fuck, if someone doesn’t back down soon...

“I’ll vouch for him,” Gavin says, with more confidence than he feels. He mentally kicks himself for throwing himself on the chopping block. But once his foot’s in his mouth, he can’t help but run with it. “If Con here fucks you over in any way, you can take it out on me.”

“Gavin…”

He sees Connor’s eyes soften beneath his visor and Gavin’s cheeks begin to warm. He looks away before his blush spreads.

From across the table, Markus becomes ever more suspicious. “Gotta admit, I wasn’t expecting you to offer yourself up as collateral.”

“With that hit Kamski put on any fucker who even looks at Deckert the wrong way, he’s untouchable. But I’m not,” Gavin explains.

“That begs a more important question,” Markus says, glancing between them. “Why stick up for the badge? What is he to you?”

Gavin narrows his eyes. Coolly, he answers, “That’s none of your fucking business.”

He glares at Markus, inwardly screaming at himself for his stupidity, but projecting more ‘big dick’ energy than his actual dick size. Connor looks ready to pull out his gun and Gavin hopes to fucking God he doesn’t. Markus might be sitting alone but Gavin scanned half a dozen people out there who he knows are Jericrew members. They’d be dead before the weapon leaves its holster.

After a long, tense moment, Markus’ lips curl into a small smirk. With a laugh, he picks up the last dumping on the plate and devours it. Gavin and Connor exhale, visibly deflating. It’s odd how quickly the tension leaves the room, almost as if it was never there.

“You’re alright, G,” Markus says, grinning. “No wonder North likes you so much.”

Something tells Gavin that any praise North has for him most likely has everything to do with Gavin being Tina’s best choom. He’s got half a mind to angrily call North later and demand to know what the fuck she was thinking sending him to Markus with no warning. But Gavin also gets that Markus and North go way back, enough that she’d put his safety before her business interests. For that, Gavin can’t really blame her. 

“She’s got good taste,” Gavin says, smirking.

Connor wears a confused look but finally begins to relax now that he must realize Markus is no threat to them. “So, you’ll tell us what we need to know?”

“If I can,” Markus answers. “What’d’you need to know?”

Gavin pulls out his phone and shows the symbol to Markus. “A gang that’s in Kabuki. Heard anything ‘bout them?”

Markus barely has to glance at the photo before giving a small nod. “That ink belongs to the Chupacobras.” 

“Chupacobras? Seriously?”

Gavin snorts.

Markus shrugs. “Hey, I didn’t choose the name. Before last month, I didn’t know anything about them. But then they started targeting Tyger Claw areas and...let’s just say, I took notice.” 

“’The enemy of my enemy is my friend,’” Connor says.

“Something like that.” Markus sips his drink. “I thought they were some upstart gangers and they’d burn out before making a name for themselves. But there’s been more and more of them in Kabuki and Little China. Now, even Maelstrom’s noticing them.”

“...you want us to do something about them,” Gavin realizes.

Suddenly, Markus’ willingness to talk is becoming clear.

Markus shrugs. “I’ve stayed out of their beef with the Tyger Claws. Making a move against them will make it look like I’ve picked sides. But the Chupacobras have become a bit _too comfortable_ in Watson. Pretty soon, they’ll be gunning for Jericrew turf.”

“Where are they based?” Connor asks.

“Beats me. Somewhere in Northside, if rumors are true,” Markus says. “I have some contacts up there but Jericrew knows to stay out of Northside while Maelstrom, the Chupacobras, and every jacked up chromer cannibalize each other.”

Sound advice. It’s why Gavin’s avoided Northside gigs, until Connor came waltzing into his life. Going up there is navigating a minefield of daily shootouts that even the NCPD is hesitant to touch. If shit doesn’t sort itself soon, Northside will become another Pacifica.

“There’s gotta be some lead you can give us.”

Markus sets his elbows on the table, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hands. His cybernetic eye seems to glow brighter but it might just be the stark contrast of blue against the black sclera. “There’s a place in Kabuki where they’ve been dealing out of. But if any of your badge chooms find out about this, you didn’t hear it from me.”

He gives Connor a look.

Connor sighs. “If anyone at my precinct asks, your name won’t come up. Promise.”

“Good. Glad I don’t need to remind you of the price for breaking your word.”

Markus’ eyes drift to Gavin, who does his best to not shiver beneath the gangster’s cool stare. Markus is an alright guy, as far as gang leaders go, but he’s also one of the few people Gavin would do anything to stay on the right side of.

“I’ll send you the address soon,” Markus says. “Now, if you two don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my dinner.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, the door near them slides open. That’s their cue to leave.

Gavin and Connor thank Markus and rise from the table. Before they leave, Markus’ cool demeanor shifts and he says to Gavin, “Simon wants you to know they’re okay.”

Gavin’s relieved to hear that. The last he saw Simon, the doll had been sold to Scavs after failing to escape the doll house they worked at. Markus asked North for the best solo for a recovery mission and that’s how Gavin ended up with the gig. Gavin never asked _why_ Markus was so interested in a doll but when Simon learned that Markus had sent for them, the gentle blush on their face had given it away. Some people find love in the strangest places.

Gavin grins. “Tell them to stay outta trouble.”

The server ushers the two out of the room. 

Once outside, Gavin can feel Connor’s eyes on him. He stops at the edge of the market and glances back at the detective, who’s a few paces behind him. Though he’s too hungry to get into whatever’s eating at the detective, Gavin relents and asks, “Something on your mind?”

“Who’s Simon?”

“You badges always gotta ask questions ‘bout shit that’s none of your business?”

The retort is automatic, delivered with less bite and more exasperation. Now that they’ve spent the better part of the day together, Gavin’s ready to ditch Connor for some much needed down time, especially before Connor gets too comfortable around him and starts delving into his personal life. Asking about past gigs? Not quite personal but Gavin’s got clients he wants to protect.

“I’m sorry,” Connor says and Gavin thinks he catches the hint of a flush on the cop’s face. “...I was just curious.”

“Why you gotta turn every goddamn conversation into a freakin’ interrogation?” Gavin sighs.

As the flush spreads down Connor’s neck, Gavin feels a little bad coming down hard on him like this. Feeling more generous than he should towards a badge, Gavin asks, “You hungry?”

Connor perks up. “I could eat.”

His stomach grumbling, Gavin heads to a nearby stand selling chuan’r, the sizzling meat skewers already making his mouth water. He picks out two, transferring the eddies via his HUD, and then hands one of them to Connor. Their fingers touch and when Connor offers a soft, “Thanks,” Gavin’s cheeks grow a little warmer. He turns away and chews off a piece of his skewer, hiding his face.

Gavin’s already a few bites into his skewer before realizing Connor hasn’t touched his. Glancing at the detective in confusion, Gavin asks, “You vegetarian or something? I can get you something else.”

Connor seems almost as embarrassed as he was a few minutes ago. “Is this pork?”

“Lamb, I think. Maybe. I dunno,” Gavin shrugs, taking another bite. He chews thoughtfully on it. “...definitely an animal.”

Connor might be giving him an unimpressed look. Gavin can’t be sure. 

Muttering under his breath, Gavin turns on his heels and walks back a few paces towards the stall where he got the chuan’r from. A few people are sitting and chatting, some placing their orders. Gavin stands on his toes and waves to get the vendor’s attention, shouting, “Hey, is this shit pork!” and indicates to what’s left of the skewer in his other hand. More than a few heads turn but most go back to their business.

Someone tugs insistently at his jacket and when Gavin throws a glance over his shoulder, he sees Connor blushing furiously. “Gav, you don’t need to—!”

“羊肉!” the vendor calls back, irritably. 

‘ _It’s lamb’,_ appears in Gavin’s HUD.

“Nova!” Gavin shouts at the vendor. He then turns back to Connor and says, “It’s la—”

“I heard what he said!” Connor all but squeaks, dragging Gavin away from the food stalls. 

When they’re out of earshot of the vendor and his customers, Connor whispers to Gavin, heatedly, “Did you really have to go and cause a scene?!” 

“What? There’s no harm in asking,” Gavin argues, defensively. He cocks a brow. “You not a fan of pork or something?”

“Not really,” Connor says, making it clear he won’t elaborate. 

Gavin points to the skewer Connor’s holding. “You actually gonna eat that shit or should I go back and ask if the lamb lived a good life before it was chopped up?”

Connor gives Gavin a withering look. Still somewhat skeptical, he takes a cautious bite of the skewer, chews thoughtfully on it, and then makes a sound of approval. “This is...really good.”

“No shit,” Gavin responds. “This night market has some of the best street food in the city.”

“I’ll have to return some time,” Connor remarks. Cheekily, he adds, “Preferably, when you’re not here to shout at poor vendors about their meat.”

“You didn’t want pork,” Gavin says, shrugging, “so I wasn’t ‘bout to make you eat shit you don’t like. Woulda got you something else if I had to.”

There’s a soft expression on Connor’s face, one that makes Gavin feel suddenly more bashful. He turns away, with an uncomfortable cough.

“I parked over here,” he mutters, walking back towards his car. 

Connor falls in step with him, the two of them avoiding the worst of the crowd in the market and walking along the market’s edge. 

Finishing off the rest of his skewer, Gavin’s about to toss it on the ground but then decides better of it. He takes it to the nearest, overflowing trash bin and pokes the stick through one of the small trash bags someone must’ve tossed on top of it. The streets are usually pretty filthy—a result of the privatization of trash collection—but he’s reluctant to add to the filth, especially under Connor’s critical gaze. Not that littering is a punishable offense these days. It’s the 21st century, for fuck’s sake.

Connor follows Gavin’s lead, though he somehow manages to shove the stick into the trash bin without getting garbage all over himself. If Gavin had to bet on it, he’d wager the guy would sooner swallow phlegm than spit on the sidewalk. 

Gavin’s phone vibrates.

“Markus sent me the address and some names,” Gavin says. He skims the message. “Vivi Viper and Carlos Ortiz. Ringing any bells?”

Connor shakes his head. “I’ve never heard of them. I’ll run their names in the database.”

“They’re operating out of some place east of the market.”

“Vivi’s listed as having Tyger Claw affiliation, while there are a number of Carlos Ortizes in the database. I’d need to ID him to make a match,” Connor says. “Your theory might be right.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I heard that,” Gavin says, opening his car door and sliding into the driver’s seat.

Connor plops down into the passenger’s side. “A fluke. Try not to let it go to your head.”

Gavin starts the car, easing back into his seat. The hum of his car always relaxes him, the sleek quadra being the best evidence of the only motto worth living by: Crime pays. Fuck, does it ever. He spent years saving up for a nice set of wheels. All it took was putting his ass on the line for many thick wads of eddies and now he’s riding in style to each gig.

Stopping it on a classic rock station he likes, Gavin glances over at Connor. The holographic visor’s turned off and a pair of warm, honey-colored eyes stare back at him. The expression the detective wears softens.

“What you said to Markus back there...you didn’t need to stick up for me,” Connor says, quietly.

Gavin turns away and pretends to cough in his fist. Why does he suddenly feel nervous?

“Markus dishes it like he’s hot shit, so I dished it back,” Gavin says, with a shrug. “Figured he’d respect a little attitude.”

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

Seriously? Is Connor really going to give him a lecture on this?

“Fuck, audio receivers must be on the fritz again,” Gavin replies sarcastically, “’cuz I missed that part where you fucking thanked me for not letting the prick flatline you.”

“I was never the one at risk,” Connor hisses, “ _you_ were. And still are. No one asked you to protect me.”

In an odd way, Gavin’s relieved Connor’s pissing him off again. When they’re arguing, they’re as they should be: two assholes on opposite sides of the law who are merely tolerating one another for mutual gain. It’s when they’re not arguing, when Gavin catches himself in those silly moments where he almost tricks himself into believing Connor’s not _that bad_ , that Gavin finds himself terrified of where that belief could lead him. At least with Connor acting like the annoying piece of shit he is, Gavin is brought back to his first impression of Connor: he really can’t fucking stand the prick.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re really fucking shitty at showing gratitude?”

“This isn’t funny, Gavin,” Connor insists. 

“Does it sound like I’m fucking laughing?”

“Damnit, will you just listen to me!” Connor snaps at him, the fervor in his voice enough for Gavin to swallow his next quip. “Enough people have been harmed for my actions; I don’t need to add _you_ to that list.”

The confession leaves Gavin speechless, who sharply turns to Connor. Connor, however, averts his guilt-ridden eyes to stare out the window. The wild pounding in Gavin’s chest thumps so loudly, it resounds in his ears. It’s almost enough to silence his sudden revelation, which is so far removed from everything he’s ever understood about badges.

Connor _cares_ about what happens to him. 

But...that’s not how it works with solos. People hire solos when they want someone expendable, someone who can die for some bullshit gig and not weigh on the conscience of the person paying out the eddies.

Connor _shouldn’t_ give a shit. Who the fuck does he think he is breaking the rules of the game?

More importantly, _why_ does he give a shit about Gavin?

“You know I’m a merc,” Gavin explains, with condescension. Being condescending is easier than demanding answers he’s not quite sure he’s ready to accept. It should be enough to piss off Connor that they’ll keep arguing and Gavin can stop obsessing over the ‘ _why_ ’ that he finds so fucking terrifying. “Mercs die all the time. Comes with the job.”

“You’re also a citizen of Night City,” Connor argues. “I took an oath to ‘serve and protect’. It would go against my oath to allow someone to risk their life for me.”

...oh.

For some reason, knowing that Connor sees Gavin as nothing more than another resident of Night City leaves Gavin feeling disappointed. 

He swallows the odd lump that’s formed in his throat.

“Promise me you won’t unnecessarily risk yourself for me,” Connor says.

Gavin looks at Connor as if he’s a gonk. “You really think I’m gonna get myself on another ganger’s shit list? Only reason I give a shit ‘bout keeping us alive is so I get goddamn paid. ‘Cuz, guess what? I can’t fucking get those eddies if either of us bites it.”

He pulls out sharply, nearly backing into one of the overflowing trash cans. Cursing under his breath, he shifts into DRIVE and accelerates onto the road. He feels Connor’s eyes on him and he can’t quite put his finger on _why_ it pisses him off but it does.

“...you still haven’t promised…” Connor points out.

Asshole.

“Fucking, fine. Whatever. _I promise_ ,” Gavin spits out, as scathingly as he can.

He tosses a glare at Connor, who looks relieved and…not quite satisfied.

But Gavin’s not about to analyze the asshole’s mood, nor the tension that fills the confined space of the car. As both of them fall into an uncomfortable silence, Gavin turns up the radio and drives towards the other end of Watson.

Some things are better left not questioning. 


	3. Light It Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following a lead given to them by Markus, Gavin and Connor stake out a drug den.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you to the readers who've been following this story for the last few weeks. Here's part 3. In case you missed it, updates will be every Sunday until the story is completed. I've updated the chapter count so the fic will now be 9 chapters instead of 8.
> 
> A big thank you to [Sky_Willows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skye_Willows) for beta-reading. I would also like to thank [BrightestStarInTheSky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightestStarInTheSky/pseuds/BrightestStarInTheSky) for helping me with some of the action scenes. You two are amazing and I am super grateful for your help :)
> 
> Please check the updated tags before continuing.
> 
> Happy reading!

  
  


“...you’re sure this is the place?” Connor asks.

The detective’s impatience is clear from the strain in his voice. They’ve been staking out the address Markus gave Gavin for more than an hour and so far, nothing of note’s happened. In that time, most of the awkward tension in the car has been filled with Connor theorizing out loud or questioning Gavin’s sources.

Fuck, is it getting on the last of Gavin’s nerves.

Gavin releases a long, annoyed sigh. “For the last fucking time,  _ this _ is it.”

“If you would just let me read the—”

“Fuck no, I’m not letting you snoop through my phone,” he cuts Connor off, looking at him as if he’s lost his mind.

“Then forward me the—”

“No.”

“Gavin—”

He flips Connor off. Connor slaps away Gavin’s hand so that it’s no longer in his face. Gavin has half a mind to throw his coffee can at Connor but then he risks spilling what remains of the cold beverage all over his leather seats. Instead, he settles back in his seat, looking out the window to scan a couple approaching the building they are staking out. The couple is stopped by the meatheads surrounding the entrance. Something’s exchanged between them and then the two leave.

_ Drugs, _ Gavin guesses.

Like the handful of people they’ve seen over the last hour, neither is Vivi, nor Ortiz.

“Touch the radio and you’re  _ dead _ ,” Gavin warns Connor, whose hand hovers near it. “My car, my rules.”

“Can we listen to something made this decade?” Connor complains. 

“Stop dissing the classics,” Gavin replies. “While you’re at it, maybe get some fucking taste. Chrome Rock’s the shit, not that pop-electronica trash the stations overplay.”

“I happen to  _ like _ Chrome Rock,” Connor argues. “ _ Savage Wires, Fives Days Dead, Synth Rippers— _ ”

“Garbage...garbage...and oh, color me fucking shocked, garbage.”

Connor glares at Gavin but instead of continuing to fight with him over music, he folds his arms over his chest. His lips curl in a small pout as he proceeds to give Gavin the silent treatment.

Fuck, if insulting the badge’s favorite music is all it takes to get him to shut the fuck up, Gavin would have done it two coffees ago. Of course, he may have been a bit dishonest in throwing  _ Savage Wires _ on the garbage list—they’re pretty nova and their lead guitarist, Leo Manfred, can riff like a motherfucker—but Gavin’s so not about to agree with Connor on anything. Call him a stubborn prick but he’s going to take advantage of one of the few moments of peace and quiet he’s had all day.

More time passes and both of them finish their coffees in silence. While Connor stews in his frustration, Gavin distracts himself by checking his missed messages. A few gigs from some fixers he’s worked with, a meme from Chen, an invitation for a new club opening in Watson tomorrow night…

But Gavin’s soon pulled from his perusing as Connor, who must be allergic to angry tension since he always finds an excuse to break it, has barely set down his empty can before he’s complaining, “I don’t see  _ why _ we’re sitting out here. We should try and get in there and see what we can find.”

Gavin pinches the bridge of his nose. He takes a deep, calming breath and when he’s satisfied he can keep his temper in check, he answers, irritably, “We’ve gone over this a dozen times already. We’re _ not _ barging in there without a game plan.”

“You’re acting as if we’ve got no way of getting in,” Connor argues. “We haven’t even looked yet for another entrance.”

_ “ _ Cuz we’re not putting our asses on the line unless one of those pricks shows up!” Gavin snaps. He jabs at his window, pointing to the thugs near the entrance. _ “ _ See those two assholes standing in front of the doors? They’re Animals – a gang wouldn’t hire muscle like that unless they don’t want anyone getting in.”

The Animals are known for being hopped up on testosterone and animal supplements to maximize their strength and speed. They’re a bitch to fight so Gavin avoids face-to-face confrontations with them whenever they show up during a gig. If someone needs something guarded, it’s a safe bet that there will be Animals on site.

“And that camera up there—that’s some preem security they got,” Gavin adds. He scanned it earlier—not top of the line but a bit tricky to hack. If they’re going to get inside, they’ll need to find a way to manipulate the feed. “Whoever these Chupacobras are, they don’t want assholes like us dicking around here.”

“They’re openly selling drugs on their doorstep!” Connor points out.

“You think waving your badge at them’s gonna work?” Gavin argues. “All you’re gonna do is piss ‘em off and—!”

“Look!” Connor interrupts, indicating to the guards. 

They both watch as the guards converse with someone—Carlos Ortiz—and then let him inside. Connor and Gavin exchange a look. 

“It’s Ortiz,” Connor says.

Gavin’s brows furrow as Ortiz’s info appears in his HUD: some minor misdemeanors and petty dealings, a few assault charges. A typical run-of-the-mill ganger. From the limited access Gavin’s mod gives him to the NCPD database, nothing about Ortiz’s profile sticks out. Why would Markus give him the name of some no-name wannabe thug?

“I’ve compiled a match,” Connor says. “Ortiz is an ex-nomad. He was kicked out of the Aldercados a few years ago and has been arrested numerous times for drug offenses and assault. He was part of a gang, Los Diablos—

“Los Diablos?” Gavin interrupts, raising his brows. 

“Yes, Gavin—Los Diablos,” Connor repeats. “I’m not the one naming these gangs.”

“Last thing the gangers need in this city is some badge telling ‘em what to call themselves.”

Connor sighs. “...may I continue?”

Gavin merely grunts. 

“As I was saying, Ortiz was in that gang but after their leader was put away for murder, the gang disbanded. Since then, he’s remained mostly off the NCPD radar.”

“Let me guess— _ you  _ had something to do with that.”

Connor flushes. “I...may have been a consulting detective on that case.”

Gavin shakes his head. “Is there anyone in Night City you haven’t fucking pissed off yet?”

Connor startles, a frown coming to his face as he becomes lost in his own thoughts. Christ, he really has to think about it?

“So, Ortiz,” Gavin says, not wanting to wait for Connor to compile what must be a very short list of chooms, “anything else we should know?”

“Besides what I told you, Ortiz has no current known affiliation.”

“Except now he’s a Chupacobra. Wonder if the shitty gang name’s his doing.”

“...are you ever going to let that go?”

Gavin shrugs. “I’m a man of simple tastes but even I know if you’re gonna market yourself as Top Dog in Night City, you need a name that slaps.”

“Right. Because nothing slaps harder than the letter ‘G’,” Connor remarks, dryly.

“Bite me, dipshit.”

“We know Ortiz is here and that he has something to do with Hank’s disappearance,” Connor says, changing the subject. The prick’s either impatient to get his choom back or has no comeback. Gavin’s guessing both. “We need to get to him and find out what he knows.”

“Hold it there, hot shot.” Gavin tugs Connor back down onto his seat as Connor tries to open the passenger door. “We don’t know how many of ‘em are in there. Remember what we talked about?”

“I have visual confirmation that they are engaging in the exchange of illegal substances,” Connor argues. “All I need is to contact my precinct and request backup—”

“For fuck’s sake, it’s like you haven’t been listening all fucking day!” Gavin snaps at him. He rips Connor’s phone from his hand before the asshole does something that will get both their asses in hot water. 

“Give that back  _ now! _ ”

“Not until you stop acting like a fucking gonk and use your last brain cell to start fucking thinking this shit through!” Gavin yells. He lowers his voice, thankful that he has his windows tinted, like many of the middle-to-high end vehicles in the city. However, all it would take is one of them being too loud and for someone to scan his ride to know there are people inside of it screaming at each other. “Markus gave us this intel. If you bust the place  _ he _ gave us, my ass is on the line and my money’s on Hank flatlining before you make it to wherever they’re holding him. How the fuck’s it gonna look when this shit makes front page news?”

Connor stops fighting for his phone but the frown doesn’t disappear from his face. He seems, instead, to be more emboldened than discouraged, as if it’s a struggle to not indulge whatever death wish he has to ‘do the right thing’. “...what they’re doing here is illegal and if we don’t stop it—”

“Fucking Christ, it’s like talking to a fucking SCSM,” Gavin grumbles.

Except, he’s talked to SCSMs before and to Brendan’s credit, it at least has more sense of self-preservation than Connor. Fuck, how is a solo the one talking down an asshole badge from barging in, guns blazing?

The universe must have a real sick sense of humor.

“Look, it’s your choom—I’m not gonna fault you for wanting to put away every asshole who’s involved,” Gavin reasons. Shit, is he kind of on Connor’s side?  _ Shoot me now _ , he thinks. He’s going to need an extra long shower tonight to scrub away the gross feeling of agreeing with the prick. “If these assholes had Chen, I’d want revenge, too.”

More than revenge—Gavin would flat out murder and sell what remains of them to the Scavs. Get rid of the pricks, make a few eddies out of it. Then wire the money to Chen’s grandparents back in Shanghai so they can give her a proper burial. Chen may be American born and raised but she always says that if she bites it, she’d wanna be buried in her mother’s home country. 

“But you gotta trust me on this, Con—you’re doing Hank no favors doing this ‘by the book’,” Gavin continues. “And you’re about to burn the only gonk in this city dumb enough to help you if you bring in more badges.”

Markus’ threat remains at the forefront of Gavin’s mind. How can it not?

Luckily, Connor also seems to have not forgotten it.

“...you’re right,” Connor says, with a small exhale in frustration. Turning to Gavin, his honey-brown eyes stare inquisitively into his. “How would you suggest we do this?”

Gavin hands Connor’s phone back to him. Then he stretches across Connor, reaching for the glove compartment. Despite the roominess of the car, he somehow manages to crowd into Connor’s personal space and the air suddenly feels thicker, like Gavin couldn’t swallow mouthfuls of it if he tried. He swears he hears Connor inhale sharply and fights to turn his head towards the sound. He instead nervously pops open the compartment, takes his mask, and slides back to his seat before he has to waste any of his brain cells wondering what the fuck  _ that _ was.

“Gonna need this,” Gavin mumbles, popping the mask onto his face. The thin, clear mask covers the top half of his face, attaching to a neural compartment just above his ears. When he activates it, the mask distorts, obscuring his face behind an array of green and white pixels. He can see through it as clearly as if he’s gazing out at the road from behind his car’s tinted windshield. The mask, however, prevents any camera with facial-recognition from IDing him. 

“I’m guessing you only have one.”

“There’s no ‘we’ in solo, sweetheart,” Gavin retorts, the pet name slipping out before he can stop himself. Luckily, the mask hides his blush. “Don’t you badges get funding for this shit?”

“My department is sorely underfunded,” Connor remarks, dryly. His cheeks look pinker but Gavin can’t be sure, since Connor is mostly turned away from him, staring out the window on his side. “It seems that there’s little money to be made in cleaning up the streets of Night City.”

All this is doing is proving Gavin’s point that crime pays. Gavin’s seen how much gear the badges working in corpo districts are decked out in, packing more heat than Wraiths in a raid. Some even have Militech equipment, the kind of shit Gavin’s seen sell for serious eddies on the black market. He’s got the feeling that few corpos are making generous donations to Connor’s precinct. Even Kamski’s not interested in openly advertising Cyberlife products on the people who brought down Zlatko. Not unless the Cyberlife CEO can turn it into a PR campaign with maximum returns. Hard to do in a city that really fucking hates cops.

“I’m gonna sneak in first and hack the security feed,” Gavin explains. “When I say it’s clear, you’ll come in after me.”

“What do I do until then?” Connor asks.

Gavin shrugs. “I dunno. Read an ebook. Watch a vid. Whatever the fuck you squares like to do.”

“I have other hobbies,” Connor says, defensively, “...besides those.”

But he sounds uncertain, like he can’t remember the last time he enjoyed himself. Fuck, he’s so wound up, Gavin wouldn’t be surprised if Connor’s hit a dry spell. A good fuck would probably smooth that chip on his shoulder.

As Gavin’s train of thought drifts somewhere uncomfortable, he coughs and forces his brain back on the gig. Realizing Connor has yet to respond, Gavin says, “...well? Don’t leave me in suspense here, Sparky.”

“I don’t see the need in reporting my interests to you,” Connor answers, a bit harshly. “I assure you I know  _ how _ to have fun  _ without  _ wasting my nights at strip clubs.”

“Aaaaand we’re back to the slut shaming,” Gavin bites back. “Christ, you must be a riot at parties. How the hell do your chooms put up with you morally policing ‘em all the time?”

An uncomfortable look crosses Connor’s face and he looks away hastily. “I...don’t have time to socialize these days.”

... _ oh. _

So, the badge doesn’t have friends. Fuck, now Gavin feels like a dick.

He mutters something that  _ would  _ be an apology, if Gavin was less of an asshole. But because he’s not, it remains an unintelligible interruption to the awkward tension that’s only growing thicker the longer he lingers. Unable to bear it, he opens the door and steps out of his car. “Just...don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

“You make it sound like I will intentionally mess this up,” Connor accuses, annoyed.

Gavin’s relieved. Annoyed Connor he can deal with. Lonely, friendless Connor is something he  _ can’t. _

“Isn’t that what you badges always do?”

Gavin slams the car door closed before he can hear Connor’s response as he heads to where he needs to go. After a few paces, a notification appears in his HUD, from Connor. He forgot he synced his phone to his HUD. Predicting it’s whatever retort Connor came up with, Gavin opts to ignore it. Just to be an asshole, he smirks and throws a rude hand gesture in Connor’s direction, drinking in the murderous look he’s betting is on pretty boy’s face. 

Nothing beats getting under a badge’s skin.

Disappearing into a grimy alley near the building he’s breaking into, Gavin pulls out his cigarettes and lights one up. He rounds the corner, and loiters while he discreetly scans the building next door for a way in. Predictably, the back entrance and some of the windows are boarded up while two more guards stand watch on the stairs. So much for an easy way in.

He exhales a puff of smoke, the smell of nicotine clearing his head better than the musty air of the city ever could. His gaze falls to a basement-level window, shuttered closed. As far as his options are looking, this one’s the best.

Finishing off his cigarette, Gavin then crouches, clinging to the shadows as he slowly makes his way to that window. From a few stories up, a camera rotates to capture as much of the street below that its limited movement will allow. Though it can’t ID him, Gavin calculates the time he’ll have to break in before it captures him: 

8.54 seconds.

In that time, he’ll need to run over there, open the shutters, and get inside. He’s not liking those odds. He’d much rather do this cleanly and not leave behind any visual evidence that could bite him in the ass later. A broken shutter would do that, if those guards decide to stretch their legs. But if it’s like most of these drug dens, Gavin’s doubting the guards will move from the doors, or that someone’s sitting at a monitor and watching the feed. 

Still, he needs to be fast.

“Have you found a way in?” a voice whispers close to his ear.

Gavin nearly jumps out of his skin, placing a hand on the wall to keep from toppling over. He cringes as it becomes slicked with whatever grime clings to the building and curses under his breath as he wipes it off on his jeans. Wearing a murderous glare, he glances back over his shoulder at Connor, forgetting Connor can’t see it. 

“Thought I told you to wait in the fucking car,” he whispers, angrily.

Well, at least his tone conveys how annoyed he is.

How the hell did the asshole sneak up on him like that? Gavin’s audio implants are pretty good at picking up sounds human ears would usually miss. Cost him a good amount of eddies, too. Maybe it is time for an upgrade.

“You never  _ actually _ said—”

“For fuck’s sake, you really needed me to spell it out for you?!”

“I can be of more use out here,” Connor argues. Though his visor is activated, he’s leaning in close enough that Gavin can see that stubborn furrow of his brows. Just great. 

“Stay here,” Gavin orders, pointing to the ground. “As in, don’t even think of fucking moving from  _ this _ spot until I tell you. Got it?”

Connor sighs.

Turning back towards the building they’re breaking into, Gavin buries his irritation and watches the camera closely. When it begins to turn away from where they’re hiding, Gavin sprints to the nearest spot that will hide him from the camera, behind a dumpster. The stench of it almost makes him gag. He resists the urge to hold his hand over his nose and glances back at Connor, half-expecting the gonk to ignore his orders. To his surprise, Connor remains where he is, hidden from the guards and the camera.

_ Should ask the prick for more eddies, _ Gavin thinks, moodily.  _ Never said babysitting him was part of this gig.  _

This is why Gavin works alone: he doesn’t need to be looking back every two seconds, worried that whatever rookie stunt Connor’s about to pull will expose them.

Glancing over the dumpster, Gavin watches and waits. The camera moves, Gavin tracking its field of vision from his HUD. When he sees his opening, he sprints the rest of the distance, dropping down to his knees. A timer sits in the corner of his vision, counting down the time that’s passed.  _ 3 seconds…4 seconds… _

He uses his chrome fingers, curling them around the metal shutter’s edge. Then he tugs, cracking the lock that latches them in place.  _ 5 seconds...6 seconds… _

With the latch broken, he pulls the shutter up. The sharp, metallic squeak of the shutter being forced open makes him wince.  _ 7 seconds...8… _

With no more time to spare, he throws his body inside, crashing to the floor. Items clatter loudly around him in the near pitch-black room, his left shoulder flaring from the impact. Gavin scrambles up to his feet, reaching blindly for something to help him up, something that feels like a shelf. The only source of light in the room is streaming in from the open window. Breath catching in his throat, he holds it there, stops and listens.

“You fucking hear that?” a voice says, from somewhere outside the window.

_ FUCK! _

Loud, heavy footfalls approach closer to the window. Any second now, they’ll see the forced open shutters and they’ll know someone’s inside, probably call back-up. Then Gavin will have more than two meatheads to worry about.

Someone gasps, something heavy crashes, and before more than a syllable can be uttered, another crashing sound can be heard. What sounds like a scuffle lasts for all of 3 seconds when suddenly, Connor’s sliding easily through the open window and lands silently on his feet. He somehow misses all the cleaning equipment Gavin crashed into.

_ A storage closet, _ Gavin realizes.

The crowded space means Connor’s only inches from Gavin, close enough that Gavin’s sure he would feel the detective’s breath if Connor wanted to breathe on him. Flustered at the thought, Gavin tries to take a step back but Connor grabs him firmly, holding him in place.

“There’s a broom behind you,” Connor warns, the words hitting Gavin’s flushed cheek like a slap. “Do you want to let everyone else know where we are?”

Gavin glares at Connor, grabbing Connor’s wrist and ripping his hand off Gavin’s shoulder. Peeking over Connor, Gavin glances through the open window and sees one of the guards knocked out cold.

“How the fuck did you do that?” Gavin demands. 

Two men, with easily 500 pounds of pure muscle between them, taken out by some six-foot tall twink who can’t weigh any more than 180 pounds? The math’s just not adding up.

But if he expects Connor to be forthcoming, he’s left disappointed as Connor ignores the question. “We won’t find what we need standing in this closet.”

Connor squeezes by Gavin, pressing in close enough that Gavin gets a good whiff of his after shave. The scent of it makes heat pool low in Gavin’s chest. He swallows uncomfortably, watches a bit stupidly as Connor presses the pad on the wall and the door slides open. 

Right. The gig.

_ Focus, _ Gavin tells his dick.

He really needs to get laid soon. Or at least stop entertaining whatever sexual frustration he must be going through with thoughts of how much he’d love to jack into the asshole he’s stuck on this gig with. A line needs to be drawn somewhere and thirsting after a client never ends well.

“There’s a camera around the corner,” Connor whispers. “I believe we can access the network from the room across the hall.”

Pulled from his train of thought, Gavin looks at Connor in surprise. “What’re you, a netrunner now?”

“Didn’t you say you were going to hack the security feed?” Connor retorts. He looks expectantly between Gavin and the room across the hall. “...well?”

“Yeah, yeah. Outta my way, rookie,” Gavin grumbles, shouldering Connor as he pushes past him. The camera faces away from him so Gavin avoids it as he enters the room across the dimly lit hall. A strange smell seems to cling to the walls, one Gavin tries not to dwell on. Drug dens are never the best smelling places, in his experience.

The numbers on the keypad are so worn, it’s easy for Gavin to decipher the code. On the fourth attempt, the door opens and Gavin strolls in, dropping into the chair at the computer. It’s like he expected: no one’s watching the feed. 

Opening the port in the fleshy part of his left palm, he pulls out a cord and connects it to the port on the computer, jacking in. Immediately, he’s met with a firewall.

“That can be dangerous,” Connor whispers. Again, sneaking up silently behind Gavin. How the fuck did some badge from Kabuki learn to move like that?! “You risk infecting your implants with malware.”

Gavin snorts. “Obviously. But this shit they’re using is a few years old and not exactly top of the line. Probably got it from some netrunner hocking off stolen Militech for ennies.”

Gavin’s no netrunner and there’s been more than a handful of times he’s needed Tina’s help to hack security systems. But for places like this, the daemon Chen had Luther install into Gavin’s cyberdeck is enough to bypass and block any malware from infecting him. Within seconds, Gavin has full access to the security network.

“See, Con? Worrying for nothing,” Gavin brags. He begins copying the saved feed from earlier in the night, constructing a 20 minute-loop that will overwrite the last ten minutes and continue to loop for the remainder of the night. Worst case scenario? Someone accesses the feed later and stops the loop. By then, Gavin and Connor should be long gone.

“...I suspect you didn’t come by this software legally,” Connor accuses.

Gavin smirks. “...you really want me to answer that?”

Connor sighs and sits at the edge of the desk. “Please hurry so we can begin looking for information on where Hank’s being held. Maybe there’s something on the computer.”

Connor reaches for the mouse but Gavin slides it away from his hand. “Fuck off, I’m in the middle of something.”

“You can multi-task.”

“Yeah, I can,” Gavin seethes, “but maybe when I’m not jacked into a network that’s gonna fry my implants if you start fucking with the connection.”

“I’m not  _ trying _ to fuck with the connection,” Connor argues, stretching over Gavin to try and take the mouse from him. “All I want is to open some files—”

“Shh! Shut up,” Gavin says, pushing against Connor’s chest. He shushes the detective again as Connor tries to speak up, holding up his right hand. Connor glowers at it while Gavin strains to hear the conversation he’s picking up on the feed. Waving Connor away, Gavin then turns up the audio on Camera 5 and increases the frame so the feed takes up the whole screen. “Listen.”

“—not picking up,” Ortiz says, shoving his phone into his pocket. He leans against a desk, numerous packets strewn across its surface. The drugs the Chupacobras are selling, weighed and packaged for distribution. Gavin can’t be sure _what_ it is and the snippets of conversation he picked up earlier makes him believe it’s something new the gang’s cooked up. Still, there’s something about all of this that’s eating at him. “Puta madre, what the hell am I paying them for?!”

The two men in the room with him exchange a look. One of them speaks up.  “ Стоит ли нам это проверить? ”

_ “Should we check it out?”  _ the translation appears in Gavin’s HUD.

Gavin freezes.

Russian. 

That can only mean...

“Of course you should fucking check it out!” Ortiz snaps. “You, find out what the fuck those gonks are doing. And you, see what the hell that sound was! If those pendejos are trying to stiff me—”

Gavin mutes the feed, not needing to hear the rest. He can feel Connor’s glare burning into the side of his face. With a scowl, Gavin minimizes Camera 5 so that 9 of the 12 feeds are back on the screen. “...you even think of fucking saying it…”

“What is it that you  _ think _ I’m going to say?” Connor chastises him. “That after all that lecturing about me interfering with your methods, it was  _ you _ who came crashing in here and exposed us!”

“I’m not the one who played fucking ninja and left the fucking car!” Gavin snaps back at him, in an angry whisper. “Fucking Christ, we’re in the middle of goddamn Kabuki! If someone breaks into my Quadra—!”

“ _ They’re  _ about to find us,” Connor says heatedly, pointing at the screen as the two men leave the room where Ortiz is, “and you’re worried about your stupid car?!”

“Don’t call my baby stupid, asshole!”

Connor releases an angry huff, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re wasting time arguing. We need to stop them before Ortiz sends more of his people down here. Jack out.”

“Jack out?!” Gavin says, looking at Connor as if he’s a moron. “I’m in the middle of overwriting the feed. You know what happens if I jack out? That camera outside—the one that caught you beating the shit outta Ortiz’s guys—that one’s Militech and even the older models got facial recognition tech. Your ID mod can fuck with Kiroshi implants but these cameras are too outdated to pick it up. Fuck, you’d need top shelf Cyberlife or Militech ELSUR for that.”

A fact Tina drilled into Gavin’s head a few gigs ago, when he tripped up a security sensor at a mansion using Cyberlife security. He activated killer drones and had to emergency dial Tina and get her to remotely hack the system. Almost didn’t make it out alive, even flatlined at Luther’s clinic while the ripperdoc was fixing him up. Tina still won’t let that go.

“...the camera didn’t capture me,” Connor mumbles, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

Gavin’s eyes widen. “...you fucking telling me you took out those two pricks in less than 8 seconds?!”

Connor doesn’t answer.

...how in the fuck is that even possible…?

“We don’t have time,” Connor insists, far too eager to change the subject. “You need to disconnect  _ now. _ ”

“Excellent plan,” Gavin mutters sarcastically, “’cept you’re missing one fucking important detail.”

Gavin points to the wall they’re facing. At the camera.

“...fuck,” Connor curses.

“Yeah, you can say that again.”

Gavin watches the number slowly climbs in his HUD. 67% complete. 

Christ, he was hoping he’d have more time for this.

  
“They’ll be here in less than a minute,” Connor says, watching the feed as the two goons pass by a camera and go their separate ways. “How much longer do you need?”

“’Bout 2 minutes and 3 seconds.”   
  


Connor heads for the door.

“Where the fuck are you going?!” Gavin demands.

“To take care of them.”

“By yourself!?”

But by then, Gavin’s speaking to an empty room. 

Cursing some more, he watches the feeds on screen. He’s not sure what he expects but Connor’s first encounter had to have been a fluke. If the badge is about to bite off more than he can chew, Gavin’s going to disconnect and go to the prick’s rescue, even if it means their little argument remains on camera for Ortiz to find later. He’s not about to let Connor die.

_ ‘Cuz of the eddies, _ Gavin insists to himself.

But the more he tells himself this, the less true it becomes.

Maximizing the feed outside, Gavin watches as the goon who went outside walks into the screen. The goon approaches the knocked out guards, cursing, “ Что за  хуйня ? ”  _ What the fuck?,  _ as he nudges one of them. The camera shifts away from them and then the sound of more Russian cursing and a gasp can be heard. When the camera moves once more to where the goon had been standing, there are now three men knocked out.

Connor is nowhere to be seen.

“...what the…?” Gavin whispers.

A cold chill creeps down his spine. 

He’s starting to suspect there’s more to Connor than being some do-gooder badge who half the city wants dead.

“Whoever the fuck’s down here, you got two fucking seconds to come out!” someone angrily shouts from somewhere down the hallway. 

Gavin opens one of the other feeds and sees the asshole Ortiz sent after them storming down the hallway. Gavin swears under his breath, the override only at 89%. Any second now, that prick’s going to round the corner and come charging in here—

Something bright flashes in the corner of the camera, moving so quickly that Gavin needs his optic implants to target and follow its movement. It takes him a moment to realize it’s Connor, launching high off the wall and twisting his body to perform a back flip. He lands on the goon’s shoulders, thighs locking around the goon’s neck. Shifting his body, both of them topple over, Connor’s thighs trapping the goon. They squeeze and squeeze, choking him. 

_ Fuck,  _ Gavin thinks, swallowing thickly.

The more intensely Gavin gawks at the feed, the hotter his insides feel. Just seeing  _ what _ Connor’s hard thighs are capable of makes Gavin uncertain if he should be more scared or horny.

Gavin hears the goon gurgle and try to twist free of Connor, writhing on the floor. But all his struggling seems to do is lock him tighter in the vice Connor’s trapped him in. Flailing and kicking out, grasping at Connor’s legs in a weak attempt to rip them off him. But it’s useless and Gavin almost feels sorry for the asshole, maybe even a bit envious. Those fucking thighs... 

Before long, the goon’s passed out.

Gavin gapes into the camera as Connor stands up and dusts himself off, as if the most inconvenient part of all this was getting the prick’s spittle all over his fitted jeans. Never mind that Gavin just witnessed the detective move with the grace and ease of a martial artist in those old kung fu vids he and Chen like to binge on their movie nights. 

_...what the fuck??! _

Something’s really not adding up here.

Lost in his jumbled thoughts, Gavin jumps when he feels a hand a shoulder.

“Are you finished overwriting the feed?”

With a scowl, Gavin shrugs off Connor’s hand. Similar to earlier, he didn’t hear the asshole come in. It’s starting to make Gavin feel like a gonk, like he’s been a step behind his ‘partner’ all night. Isn’t he the one who should be calling the shots?

“Stop fucking doing that,” Gavin complains. He keeps his back turned to Connor, pretending to be engrossed in his task instead of two seconds away from losing his shit and demanding answers. Part of him is almost too afraid to know. 

As he completes the override and uploads the loop, Gavin disconnects from the computer. He’s tempted to forget what he saw, write it off as more amateur’s luck’, but it’s hard to pretend Connor’s just another asshole badge who’s made a few enemies. Gavin’s only come across _ one _ type of person who can move and fight like that without implants. “You wanna explain where the fuck you learned all that ninja shit?”

Connor tenses, looking away when Gavin turns sharply to watch the detective’s face. There’s an unreadable expression on his face. “...I studied krav maga before joining the NCPD.”

Gavin stares at him, not sure if he buys it. Being an NCPD officer is a thankless job: long hours, shit pay, and a high mortality rate. That means a badge can count their lucky stars if they hit the ripe old age of 40. That Hank’s still kicking it means the old prick must have an in with some gang or corpo. If his hands were the least bit clean, he’d’ve eaten lead well over a decade ago.

Would it be all that shocking that someone like Connor who, for whatever fucking reason,  _ wants _ to be a badge, would have some martial arts training? Probably not. Gavin knows of a few badge-only gyms where the assholes can wail on each other—when they’re not beating the shit out of some poor street kid who looked at them wrong. Trigger-happy assholes beaten down by the system need to get their frustration out somehow. The only people in this city who become badges are the shit stains not good enough for the gangs and too unconnected to have an in with the security corpos. 

“Who the fuck studies krav maga?” Gavin says, narrowing his eyes. Connor can’t see it behind the mask Gavin still wears. “That’s the shit Cyberlife ‘n Militech teach their fucking security and you don’t look like some corpo douchebag.”

Warmth heats Connor’s cheeks. “Can you drop it? We’re in the middle of—”

“Let me guess: you had big aspirations, thought if you licked the right prick’s boots, you’d get your foot in the door,” Gavin interrupts him. Connor’s like a blank slate, one Gavin’s still unable to fill. It’s as if the more time he spends with him, the less he knows about the self righteous prick. So Gavin runs with his theory. “But you were never good enough for Militech, or those small time corpos, so you had to settle for the NCPD. A nobody who wanted to be somebody. All this shit starting to ring a bell?”

Connor leans in close, the tip of his nose pressing to Gavin’s mask. The murderous glare on his face, the vicious curl of his lips, are all the warning Gavin has that he’s crossed a line. The detective’s voice drops to a low, angry whisper. “...I’ve stopped looking into your past, so I suggest you stop trying to figure out mine. Or should I release you from your services and slap you with those double-homicide charges? You’ll be lucky if life in max is all you get.”

Gavin’s blood turns to ice at the coldness of Connor’s tone but Gavin’s always operated on his impulses, gets a rush of adrenaline every time he acts against his self-preservation. He shoves Connor with little force, Connor stepping back a pace, and retorts, rudely, “If you’re gonna get all up in my face with your bullshit, use a fucking breath mint next time. I’d like to keep a clear head while I’m cleaning up your shit.”

“Petty insults. Who could’ve seen that coming,” Connor mutters.

“Oh, I’m just fucking getting started,” Gavin sneers. “You wanna go, pretty boy, I can go _ all. Fucking. Night.” _

The double meaning hangs thickly in the air and fuck does Gavin love how it riles Connor up, the right combination of flustered and angry. 

“...you should keep your mind on the mission,” Connor advises him, coolly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away. The pink dusting his cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed.

But for as much as Gavin would love to entertain how uncomfortable he can make Connor, he’s got enough juice in him to swipe below the belt, his words cutting their mark as he snidely adds, “Whatever. It’s your fucking time we’re wasting, not mine. Or you forgetting your choom’s as good as dead because of your fuck up?”

Connor glances at him sharply, the reminder of what brought them to this point painted in the guilt he now wears on his face. A low blow but if the asshole is going to be dishing out threats, Gavin’s going to hit back with the badge’s regrets. The circles under Connor’s eyes are evidence enough of the toll Connor’s guilt has had on him. If Gavin had to bet on it, he’d wager the badge hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in a while.

“I…”

His mouth snaps shut, silenced by his own shame.

The silence stretches for enough moments that Gavin’s frustrations cool to the point where he can once more be somewhat civil. Being at each other’s throats has only gotten them both stuck in some smelly basement, too stubborn to listen to the other’s plan. If they keep going like this, they’ll be flatlining before the night’s end. 

“You got your past, I get that,” Gavin finally says, quietly. But he can’t quite remove that frigid note in his tone as he adds, “But if you’re gonna drag me to fuck knows where to save your friend, I gotta know that I can trust the asshole watching my six. ‘Cuz if you ‘n me can’t trust each other, this rescue mission ain’t gonna have a happy ending.”

Gavin can’t be sure if it’s a warning or a threat. 

Connor doesn’t answer, merely nods. 

After a moment, he indicates to the desk. “I’ve bought us a few minutes. I’d like to see what’s on there before Ortiz sends anyone else.”

Gavin rigidly moves aside. So much for getting any solid answers out of Connor.

Connor seats himself at the desk and begins looking through the files. 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Gavin,” Connor says quietly, unexpectedly. He types away, eyes not leaving the screen as he searches through the computer’s files. “There are some things I’m...not ready to talk about.”

The waver in Connor’s voice hangs in the air with regret. Whatever he’s referring to weighs heavier on him than Fowler’s death or Anderson’s disappearance. It doesn’t diminish Gavin’s curiosity but it makes him realize what maybe he is pushing Connor too hard on this. Hell, Gavin’s dealt with shadier shit as a merc and he’s never stopped and demanded a ganger confess to all the shit they’ve been mixed up in before he accepts a job from them. 

...why can’t he let this go?

Pulling up his contacts in his HUD, Gavin sends off a quick message to Tina.

_ chen. ur right bout the badg. dig up anythin u cn find on him _

The response is almost immediate.

_ already on it, g _

When Gavin looks back at Connor, the detective’s studying a file on the screen.

“Found something?”

“These files,” Connor scrolls slowly through them, giving Gavin a chance to skim them, “it looks like they’re cataloging inventory.”

“Kiroshis, bioconductors, livers, hearts…?” Gavin reads aloud.

Parts. Synthetic and organic. That can only mean they’re dealing with—

“Scavs,” Connor whispers, finishing the thought for him.

“Great,” Gavin mutters.

So, not only are they up against a gang that fractured after Zlatko was put away but now there’s a good chance that if Gavin dies, some asshole will be wearing his lungs and implants. The only market more lucrative than drugs and illegal firearms is the demand for top grade implants forcefully extracted from their victims and sold for a fraction of the cost.

Gavin should know. He’d done a few gigs for some Scavs back in the early days of his solo career.

“There’s more to this,” Connor insists, pulling open another file. It’s some medical bullshit Gavin can’t make heads or tails of but Connor wastes no time in explaining it to him. “That drug they’re peddling—they’re calling it ‘red ice’.” Gavin’s heard of it, seen it passed around some dive he was in a few weeks back. “It infects the operating system like a virus.”

“You mean these assholes are shooting themselves up with malware?”

“Insufflation seems to be the preferred way of using it,” Connor corrects him. 

Gavin actually has to look up the term ‘insufflation’ and feels like a dumbass when his HUD provides the definition. _ Fucking know it all coulda just said ‘smoking’.  _

Connor continues. “Red ice renders implants inactive while releasing heavy amounts of dopamine, much like amphetamines. So users get the highs of a typical drug but also the risks that come with malicious software. Some of the side effects include higher instances of overdosing, brain hemorrhaging, malfunctioning of implants, and seizures.”

“So?” Gavin shrugs. “People overdose on shit all the time. Go to any club in Night City, every prick in there will have a dorph to jumpstart their system in case the shit they’re taking fucks with their implants.”

Hell, Gavin keeps dorphs on him in case anything happens while he’s on a gig. Despite how addictive that shit is, it’s sometimes the difference between keeping him alive and biting the dust before he makes it to the ripper. 

“That’s not the point, Gav,” Connor argues. “ _ Look  _ at these numbers: they’re trying to get more buyers to overdose!”

“But that doesn’t make any fucking sense,” Gavin mutters, leaning over Connor to study the screen. “How the fuck can you keep dealing if your junkies keep…”

Suddenly, it all comes together.

“...they  _ want _ the assholes taking their shit to OD,” Gavin realizes.

Connor nods. “It makes it easier to extract implants and organs if your targets are incapacitated. People die and disappear in Night City every day. So many that all of our precincts are overwhelmed. We can’t respond to every missing person’s case, much less most crimes while they’re taking place. That’s what the Chupacobras are counting on.”

“You know one thing that’s really confusing me ‘bout all this?” Gavin declares, looking down pointedly at Connor. “That part where you explain what the fuck any of this shit has to do with Anderson? We came here for your choom, not for you to go after more Scavs!”

As far as Gavin sees it, getting dragged into  _ another _ of Connor’s crusades is not his problem. He’s got no personal beef with the Scavs and would much rather keep all his body parts. 

“This drug is what we tried to stop Zlatko from mass producing!” Connor says. “Putting him away was supposed to disrupt his operation! If I can just—”

Gavin rips away the shard Connor tries to jack into the computer, holding it out of the detective’s reach. 

Connor glares. “Give that back!”

“You can get it back when we get the fuck out of here.”

“Gavin—!”

“Don’t fucking start with me, Deckert,” Gavin snaps. “Told ya already we are not here so you can piss off every ganger committing a crime under your fucking nose. You wanna follow up on this red ice shit? Do it on your own time.  _ After _ we find Anderson.”

He emphasizes that last part, pocketing the shard. He has half a mind to crush it between his chrome fingers but it might have some important badge crap on it and he doesn’t need to go destroying Connor’s shit before Connor’s fully paid him. He will, however, keep the asshole from roping him into some ‘tough-on-crime’ operation that Gavin has zero interest in being apart of.

Fuck, if he hadn’t wasted the better part of two days with this prick, Gavin would send him back his eddies and be on his way.

“ _ Fine, _ ” Connor hisses, “but if you so much as damage a single file on there—”

“Double-homicide. Max for life. Got it,” Gavin grumbles. He jabs at the monitor. “Just find what you need for Anderson so we can bounce…”

They hear the faint sound of cursing coming from somewhere in the basement. 

Pushing Connor aside, Gavin accesses the camera feed remotely, seeing in real-time what the camera sees instead of the looped feed that’s been playing on the monitor. A small group of armed gangers stand around the guy Connor took out earlier. 

“Think our time’s up,” Gavin comments, dryly.

This night just keeps getting better.

Motioning for Gavin to be quiet, Connor moves soundlessly towards the door opposite the one leading to the hallway. Gavin follows, careful to step around a bin overflowing with electronic parts. The door Connor’s standing near swishes open and the detective slips into the next room. Gavin glances sharply towards the hallway, where heavy footsteps are quickly approaching. Not waiting for them to burst into the security room, Gavin rushes in after Connor, slapping his palm on the door panel to lock the door behind them. That should buy them a bit more time to get the fuck out of here.

Immediately, Gavin’s hit with that chemical stench he smelled earlier, hanging thickly in the air. The green glow from the dim lighting illuminates the room but Gavin still uses his implants to enhance his vision. What he sees only exacerbates his urge to vomit.

“Think your Scav theory’s right,” Gavin mumbles, swallowing the bile burning in his throat. 

The large room is lined with all sorts of medical equipment used for extracting implants and organs, with nearly every surface covered with plastic, blood-stained sheeting. The far wall is smashed, revealing a smaller room containing three ice-filled tubs, limbs hanging over the side. The people in them are either incapacitated or have flatlined, their bodies kept cold to extract anything the Scavs can sell on the black market. In the room Gavin and Connor are currently standing in, there are four medical tables, each with a disemboweled corpse. The longer Gavin stands in the middle of all this gore, the more sick he feels.

Fighting the desire to keel over and empty the contents of his stomach, Gavin searches for an exit. He sees it at the far corner, a small window that they both should be able to squeeze through. Gavin points to it but Connor’s not paying attention and the detective creeps towards the ice-filled tubs. Angrily, Gavin yanks him back by his yellow coat.

“The fuck are you doing!?” Gavin demands, in a harsh whisper.

“We need to help them,” Connor whispers back, extracting himself from Gavin’s grip.

“Con—”

There’s pounding on the door Gavin just locked and soon, the sound of someone punching the wall beside it. The door panel. With a frustrated sigh, Gavin pulls out his gun. He aims it towards the door.

“Hope you know what you’re fucking doing, Con!” Gavin snaps at the badge.

Fuck this job. Gavin never signed up to play hero. 

The door slides open and Gavin fires, the bullet piercing the ganger’s skull before he realizes what’s happening. The ganger collapses face down in a pool of his own blood. The two who were behind him duck to either side of the open doorway. As a volley of bullets are fired into the room, Gavin throws himself behind one of the medical machines.

Shit. All he’s got is his automatic pistol. Figures the assholes would be armed to the teeth. 

“Could use a little help here!” Gavin shouts at Connor, waiting for the gangers to reload before firing off a few shots. But all he’s shooting at is the open air as the gangers crouch back behind the doorway. When he glances to where Connor had disappeared to, the detective’s nowhere to be seen. 

_ Where the fuck is he?  _ Gavin thinks, annoyed. 

As more shots are fired, Gavin glances around for anything within reach. Sure, this is a makeshift lab but the Scavs pack a lot of heat. There has to be  _ something  _ he can use…

His scanner picks up a supply shelf not far from where he’s hiding. 

Nova.

When the shooting stops, Gavin sprints. As the firing starts up again, Gavin slides behind a desk. He takes a moment to catch his breath and then reaches for the single grenade sitting on the nearby supply shelf. He’s got only one shot at this.

_ Gotta make this one count. _

“You come out now, we’ll go easy on you,” one of the gangers calls into the room. 

Assholes think they got him cornered.

“Sorry, choom; I think I’ll keep my implants,” Gavin calls back.

He activates the grenade and lobs it into the security room. Slamming his hands over his ears, he squeezes his eyes shut as a sharp piercing noise echoes in the space around him. It’s like a knife slicing through his brain, its serrated edges sawing into his implants. He’s only at the edge of the sonic grenade’s radius and he struggles to not pass out, the pain heightened by his implants. When the ringing finally stops, he cautiously removes his hands from his ears and peeks around from where he’s hiding.

The two gangers are passed out in the doorway, blood dripping out of their ears. 

Gavin exhales in relief. 

Woozily, he rises to his feet, rubbing at his ears. Being subjected to the sonic pulse has left him more light-headed than he expected. He needs to be less reckless next time.

Suddenly, he remembers that he didn’t come here alone. 

_ Where the fuck’s Connor? _

Glancing hastily around the room, Gavin’s breath catches in his throat when he hears the sound of a gun cocking behind him. He freezes as the end of an assault rifle digs sharply into his back.

“Don’t fucking try anything,” a voice behind him warns. “You’re gonna turn around slowly, hands where I can fucking see ‘em. And then you ‘n me, we’re gonna go for a nice little walk upstairs.”

_ Shit _ , Gavin curses silently.

He wracks his brain for a way out of this. It’s gotta be another one of the Animals so it’s not like he can fuck with the asshole’s implants. He’s got a switchblade in his back pocket and his pistol still in his hand. Maybe if he catches the prick off guard…

“Gun on the ground. Now!” the asshole orders.

_ Double shit. _

Annoyed, Gavin slowly places his weapon on the ground. As the ganger jabs him roughly and Gavin rises back to his feet, his implants catch a shadow moving from the corner of his eye. The shadow moves fluidly, blending with the room’s darkened corners. The room’s so dimly lit that anyone without top of the line Kiroshis probably would miss it. A smirk tugs at the corner of Gavin’s lips.

“If I were you, I’d be careful where you point that gun,” Gavin taunts, turning to face the ganger. 

The ganger looms over him, seven feet tall of pure muscle, face contorted in fury. Gavin knows he’d never be able to take one of these pricks in hand-to-hand, not with the amount of ‘roids and stims these assholes ingest daily. Still, his shit-eating grin doesn’t waver as the ganger snaps, “What the fuck are you—?”

Glass smashes to the ganger’s left and he quickly swivels, aiming his weapon in the direction of the sound. It’s then that the shadow Gavin saw earlier comes into focus, passing so close to him, Gavin swears he can feel the hint of an exhale against his cheek. Then, Connor launches himself at the ganger from behind. 

“Ugh!”

Connor knocks the asshole off his feet, the ganger caught so off guard that he collapses heavily to the ground, gun flying from his hands. As the ganger scrambles, Connor throws his weight on the thug’s back, pinning him to the ground. An arm curls around the ganger’s neck, the gleam of something sharp in Connor’s other hand. Gavin realizes it’s his switchblade.

_ How the fuck did he…? _

Connor slices the blade across the ganger’s throat. The ganger gurgles and sputters, blood spilling from his lips and the wound on his neck. Gavin watches on, still not quite believing Connor snagged his knife without him feeling it. Eventually, the ganger stops moving.

Panting, Connor rolls off the ganger. He accepts the hand Gavin offers to him as Gavin helps the badge back to his feet. Gavin almost feels as if he should say something but he can’t quite shake off his surprise.

“Your knife,” Connor says.

He wipes it off on his jeans and then closes it, handing it back to Gavin.

As his hand lingers awkwardly between them, Gavin only then becomes aware that he hasn’t let go of Connor’s other one. Blushing, he quickly releases Connor and pockets his knife. Gavin then picks up his discarded gun and holsters it. 

“Let’s get the fuck outta here before Ortiz sends more of these pricks after us,” he says.

Connor glances in the direction of the broken wall, where the room of ice-baths is. “I checked the tubs. One of them is still alive.”

Gavin already doesn’t like where this is going.

“This was supposed to be a fucking stakeout,” Gavin says angrily, “not a search and rescue. For fuck’s sake, I had to flatline one of the pricks Ortiz sent after us and I dunno about you, but I am not about to stick around and find out if the asshole’s in a forgiving mood. Let’s delta...NOW!”

He tries to tug Connor towards the window but Connor pushes Gavin away and beelines for the ice baths. Swearing out loud, Gavin trudges after him.

“All of this for some fucking junkie,” Gavin seethes, no longer certain if he’s complaining to Connor or simply himself. It’s not like the dipshit will listen to him anyway.

“Help me pick him up,” Connor says, carefully pulling out a man from one of the tubs.

Gavin scans the guy: Rupert Travis, 18. Definitely an addict, from the amount of drug charges on the guy’s file. Shit, fucker’s barely legal, still just a kid.

Shoving Connor aside rudely, Gavin easily scoops up the half-naked teen in his arms. It makes him sick to his stomach as he catches sight of the cut open torsos on the medical beds not far from the ice baths.  _ This _ is why Gavin doesn’t get involved, why he accepts his gigs, gets what he needs done for his eddies, and tunes out all the rest of the shit around him like it’s nothing more than white noise. Because the second he starts to pay attention is the second he realizes that hey, maybe he does give a damn.

“Thank you,” Connor whispers, his voice sounding soft.

Gavin flushes. “I’m charging you extra for this shit. Fucking bullshit, making me save some stupid asshole you never even heard of. Fuck me and fuck this job and fuck you stupid badges, always gotta go and fuck with the fucking system…”

Gavin continues to mutter and complain as Connor unlocks the window, hoists himself through it, and then reaches back inside for Rupert. Gavin  _ could _ just toss the kid back down, squeeze through the window, and leave Connor here if the badge keeps making a stink about playing hero. But instead, Gavin figures he’s come this far so might as well see this impromptu rescue through.

Back at the car, Gavin places Rupert in the back seat, the kid still incapacitated. As Connor slips into the back with him, a worried frown tugs at his lips. Moments later, he utters an expletive.

“He’s flatlining,” Connor says, turning sharply to Gavin.

The ice-bath was probably the only thing keeping him alive, but barely. Gavin drops into the front seat, slamming the door. Opening the glove compartment, he digs around for his dorphs while he accesses his contacts in his HUD. Pulling out the one he was looking for, Gavin tosses it back to Connor.

“Use this to try and jumpstart the kid’s heart,” Gavin orders. He dials Luther as he starts the engine. “Hey, Luther. Gotta kid flatlining. Gonna need medical attention ASAP!”

“Bring him in,” Luther says.

Gavin speeds down the road, furtively glancing in his rear view as Connor stabs Rupert in the chest with the dorph. It takes a few moments after the stimulant is used before Rupert exhales hard, head lolling in Connor’s lap. Connor glances up sharply to meet Gavin’s eyes in the mirror.

“He’s hyperventilating,” Connor says, worriedly.

“Shit, it must be the kid’s implants,” Gavin says, swerving sharply down an empty side street. He rips off his mask and tosses it onto the passenger’s seat, even if it won’t help him drive faster. In reality, Gavin’s no ripperdoc so he has no clue what’s causing the kid to have an anxiety attack. All he knows is he needs to get Rupert to someone who does. “Hang on!”

The drive from where they are in Kabuki to Luther’s clinic would easily take about fifteen minutes but Gavin does it in half the time, speeding down the mostly empty streets and relying on shortcuts through the alleys to cut down on time. By the time he’s slammed the brakes in front of Luther’s clinic, Connor’s hopping out and pulling Rupert with him. Gavin helps him and they rush Rupert inside just as the kid starts to flatline again. With Rupert lying motionless on the single medical bed in the clinic, Luther gets to work while Gavin goes outside for a cigarette. He’s not sure if the kid will pull through but as far as Gavin’s concerned, he did all he could.

Sucking on a cancer stick, Gavin leans against the wall outside the clinic, absently watching the street in front of him. He’s sure Luther would kick his ass if he lit up inside so he’s playing it safe smoking out here. No point in pissing off his ripper with his bad habits. That would be the icing on the cake after this shit night.

As Gavin thinks about everything that went down, he sinks deeper into a foul mood. Fucking around with the Scavs is not exactly the position he wants to be in right now but he knew there was a good chance they were the ones behind this when he accepted the gig. Still, that doesn’t give Connor the excuse to go off script, saving every gonk they come across in their search for Anderson. As far as the Scavs are concerned, Gavin and Connor stole thousands of eddies worth of merch when they walked out of that drug den with Rupert and if those assholes figure out  _ who _ is behind it, they’ll be coming for more than revenge.

Viciously stamping out his cigarette, Gavin decides that it’s time to put the asshole badge back in his place. He’s had enough. He’s let Connor get away with blackmailing him, lying to him, and hiding his shady past, but making Gavin an accomplice in his one-man crusade against the gangs is a step way too goddamn far. The next time he talks to that prick, he’s going to tell him  _ exactly _ where he can shove this stupid search for Anderson—

“Rupert’s going to live,” Connor says, startling Gavin out of the rant Gavin’s been building in his head. 

Gavin opens his mouth, insults sitting at the edge of his tongue. He’s ready to unleash his wrath, let Connor know that he’s fucking  _ done _ , when Connor unexpectedly pulls him into a tight hug. 

_...the fuck?! _

Arms wrapping firmly around Gavin, Connor gives him a full body hug. Gavin can feel all of him, from his soft hair brushing against Gavin’s ear to that hard torso that slots so perfectly against his. There’s a rapid pounding in Gavin’s chest, his face becoming warm and flush, as stands there awkwardly, arms at his sides because...well, fuck, should he be hugging him back?!

“He’s alive because of you,” Connor whispers, his tone warm as the words tickle Gavin’s ear, “thank you.”

Like his operating system is buffering, it takes Gavin a delayed moment before he reacts. Muttering about ‘ _ asshole badges turning me soft _ ’, he gently pushes Connor off of him. In truth, he’s more than a little freaked out at how nice it feels to be hugged by the detective.

Connor smiles at him but that smile soon wanes as a serious look returns to the badge’s face, the moment between them passed. Voice dropping to a whisper, Connor leans in a little closer, despite that there is no one to overhear them, and says, “We still don’t have any idea where Hank is. But at least we know for certain that the Scavs are involved.”

Back to business.

“These Scavs have rebranded themselves as ‘Chupacobras’ and they’re posing as drug pushers to get more junkies to take their red ice,” Gavin says. “Pretty clever.”

Connor glares at him. “I don’t see what’s so ‘clever’ about taking advantage of people suffering from addiction.”

“Drop your moral compass for two seconds and think like a Scav: you milk the addicts for their eddies and then when they OD, you come and collect,” Gavin explains. “Get these assholes to trust you, lure them in your drug houses, and then by the time you’ve extracted everything worth taking from ‘em, maybe someone’s realizing their choom’s not been around for a few days. But it’s as you said, people go missing all the time so who’s gonna care if some meth head’s not screaming shit in the middle of the Megabuilding plaza?”

“Still…”

“Hey, I’m not saying I’d wanna be in the business of cutting people open and selling their parts,” Gavin says, making a face. Hell, the shit he saw tonight is almost enough to not make him want to eat for a week. “But even junkies will think twice ‘bout taking any shit a Scav gives ‘em so whatever these assholes have done, they’re making themselves look legit. Fuck, if all it takes is hiring a few Animals and slapping together a shitty looking tattoo…”

Gavin’s voice trails off as he’s suddenly struck with what about the tattoo has been bugging him for the last few days. Fuck, he’s a gonk for not realizing this shit sooner. The answer to all of this has been staring him in the face all along. Instead, he’s been running all over Kabuki and racking up favors to other gangers when if he’d just used his brain to begin with, he would have known exactly  _ who _ is behind this shit.

Christ, maybe there’s a reason he became a solo instead of a PI.

“...Gavin?”

Connor stares at him, quizzically.

“That tattoo,” Gavin says, “I know where I’ve fucking seen it before! And I’m guessing this prick’s the one behind Anderson’s disappearance.”

“What are you talking about?” Realization dawns on Connor’s face. “You mean...”

Throwing his arm around Connor’s shoulders, Gavin smirks. “Piece of advice, Con? Ditch the jacket. Maybe put on something nice for tomorrow night.”

“...because…?”

The smirk Gavin’s wearing becomes even more saucy as he answers, “‘Cuz you ‘n me, we’re going on a  _ date. _ ”

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone curious, the fic and chapter titles are taken from K/DA's [The Baddest](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RkID8_gnTxw).


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